


Sunspots

by pepperfield



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: (over)extended metaphor, Banter, Cooking, Dreams, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Insomnia, Light Pining, M/M, Poker, Slow Build, Slow Dancing, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: Kevin Price doesn’t do things by half measures, especially not something so pedestrian as falling in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the touring cast perform when they were in town, and I thought they did a fantastic job!! This is my first theater fandom, so please let me know if I'm doing anything odd or wrong, haha. And please don't hesitate to contact me if you have questions or concerns! Thank you for reading!!

According to Arnold, it was love at first sight.

“And you were like Aragorn, wandering through the woods of Rivendell- that’s the mission hut, I guess. And _he_ was like Arwen, and you were all, ‘Oh my gosh, who is this beauty?? Could it be Lúthi- uh, I mean...M...Moroni?’ And then Elder McKinley was like-”

“I really don’t think Moroni is the hot piece of angel you’re making him out to be,” Kevin interrupts.

Arnold dismisses him. “Whatever, the point is, you saw each other for the first time and bam! That was it. The beginning of your beautiful love story.”

“It was _exactly_ like that, except in no way whatsoever, at all. Literally all of that is wrong, and you know it.”

Love at first sight might have been easier. But Kevin has such a wonderful knack for doing things the hard way. Why have a scrapbook perfect romance when you can tumble face first over your own emotional ineptitude again and again until you’re too deep in the hole to realize you don’t even know when exactly you fell in love? Every great love story has its ups and downs before the happy ending. Kevin’s just resembles an elevator more than most. 

Arnold might be right about one thing. It probably did start outside the mission hut. But Kevin isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

\--

Nabulungi is scrubbing at their clothes with vigor, her clever hands working out spots of grime in their shirts with soap. Arnold, on the other hand, is a disaster. He’s covered in soap bubbles and he’s gotten just as much water on his own pants as he has in the laundry bucket. From his ridiculous laugh of pride when he finally manages to clean a single shirt, he knows it, too.

“Look, Nabulungi! One down!” At least he gets her name right seven times out of ten these days.

“Good work, Elder Cunningham, but if we don’t finish them all, Sister Kalimba will scold you again! Even if you are the prophet. Keep going!” She takes the white shirt from his hands and hucks it at Kevin, who catches it in his own clean bucket and begins rinsing it off. They’re trying to save and scrimp by reducing the amount of electricity they use this month, which means no microwave and no washing machine. It’s a test in progress.

“Yeah, Elder Cunningham, how are we supposed to make a good impression if we don’t have clean shirts? Not to mention clean _ties_ ,” he sighs woefully at Arnold, who turns around to try and soap him with one of his bubble clusters. Kevin avoids him by scuttling sideways, handsomely, much like a dashing crab.

“We only forgot the ties once!”

“Ties, not TIE fighters,” Naba reminds Arnold gently, which, first of all, what is that bit of scripture even supposed to _mean_ , and second of all, was there ever a greater listener in all of humanity than Nabulungi Hatimbi? Kevin knows it’s certainly not one of his own strong points.

Arnold grins at her, leaving a soapy blob on top of her hand before returning to work, docile again. “Wow, yeah, that’s exactly right, Narragansett. You’re so smart!”

“No, you are!” she giggles back.

Kevin is impossibly fond of them both.

Laundry duty continues at a respectable rate, even considering Arnold’s questionable contribution, but Kevin has to put his foot down when the light-hearted flirting at the other tub starts impeding the quality of their work.

Arnold hands him another shirt still smudged with dust, and Kevin glares at it.

“Arnold, there’s at least four spots on this one. Rejected.”

“Four spots? Oh, that won’t do,” says a voice from above, before someone plucks the shirt from Kevin’s hands and begins examining it. Kevin squints upward, using one wet hand to shield himself from the sun so he can properly see Elder McKinley standing beside his tub. Sunlight streams down around him, crowning him in golden fire, and for a moment, Kevin is blinded.

The halo of light around his face makes it impossible to look elsewhere, so Kevin finds himself focused on the way the shadows make his blue eyes look almost violet. There’s something secretive about his expression, like a mystery trying not to unfold, and it makes Kevin want to ask questions he doesn’t even have words for.

There’s a name for this, Kevin knows. He’s seen it in photographs of solar eclipses, that same glowing wreath around the sun that frames Elder McKinley’s face now, casting his pale hair an even brighter shade of red.

Corona. That’s the word for it. A crown of light.

And as with an eclipse, he knows he shouldn’t stare too long, but it’s hard to look away. 

The amused twist to Elder McKinley’s mouth softens when he turns to watch Arnold scramble to his feet and almost pitch forward because of all the water quickly becoming mud. It seems like Kevin isn’t the only person who’s been won over by Arnold in the last few months.

“There’s really only three,” Arnold explains, after swiping away a stray blot of dirt that found its way onto the collar. 

“Oh, well, three is fine,” Elder McKinley laughs, handing it back over. “Carry on. Four, and we’d have to have words about our standards, Prophet Cunningham.”

“See, three is fine, Kev,” Arnold says, cajoling. He drapes the shirt over the rim of Kevin’s bucket with a wink before returning to his own post.

A grin tugs at Elder McKinley’s lips. “We can let it go, can’t we, Elder Price?” He’s teasing, Kevin knows, because the first few months of learning to let go, to let loose, had been just as much as a trial for him. It’s becoming easier. Today, Elder McKinley has the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his usually neat hair is already melting into rakish disarray. It feels weird to think of him this way, because Elder McKinley is usually prim and put together, even when on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But on very hot days like these, he bends the rules a bit more each time. If temperatures keep climbing the way they have been, Kevin might come outside one day to find him shirtless and glistening with water, hair slicked back like a shampoo model.

That would be difficult to deal with.

Kevin is momentarily at a loss for words, but before the silence can grow awkward, his mouth does the talking that his brain is too busy overthinking to handle. Sometimes that means regurgitating the right words during missionary training, or following the script for the kind of small talk that good Mormon boys make.

Right now, it means bantering back.

“I don’t know. It starts with dirt on your clothes and then suddenly you’ve got anarchy in the streets.”

“Anarchy?”

“I’m talking fistfights, littering, larceny. People driving on the wrong side of the road. Missionaries drinking coffee. Total chaos.”

“That does sound pretty dreadful. Maybe we shouldn’t chance it. Should I sneak this back into Elder Cunningham’s bucket?” he asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Can you pull it off?” Kevin asks, raising an eyebrow. “They’re distracted, but, I mean, Arnold still knows how to count.”

“Let’s find out,” Elder McKinley decides. Kevin makes a “go ahead” gesture, and he tiptoes casually around the puddle of mud, darting quick glances down to see if he’s in Nabulungi’s line of sight. The other two are too busy laughing among themselves about something that happened with Kalimba and Elder Neeley in the fields yesterday to notice him. With his eyes still trained on Kevin, Elder McKinley bends at the knees just slightly and nonchalantly slips the shirt back into the frothy water. Task complete, he strides away, using his purposeful District Leader walk, calling out to them all, “Good work with the chores so far, everyone. I’m going to- uh, I’m gonna go see what’s next on the checklist.”

“Subtle,” Kevin mouths at him as he returns to the house.

“Shut up,” Elder McKinley mouths back. He hustles inside.

Kevin continues washing the clothes in his tub, but watches carefully as Arnold blindly scrubs at the new shirt in his hands, blissfully unaware that he’s wound up with more clothes than before.

Wow. Kevin shakes his head with a laugh. Love does really make you dumber. It also makes you generally better as a person, but that’s not nearly as fun to tease Arnold about.

Elder McKinley’s head pops out at the edge of the window, peering over at them. Kevin flashes him a thumbs-up and he grins, giving a small wave before disappearing from view again.

By the time they’ve got most of the laundry hung up on the line, Elder Davis has finished helping Kimbay patch up the wall of the schoolhouse, and lunchtime is upon them. Everyone goes to crowd into the mission house to see what Sadaka’s cooked up for them today, but Kevin hangs around outside a bit longer, feeling obligated to make sure all the pants Arnold hung up aren’t going to get wrinkled.

Elder McKinley sidles up while he’s working, his hands tapping on his thighs the way they do when he gets restless, so Kevin hands him the last few clothespins. They work down the line, straightening crooked clothes as they clip. 

There’s something nearly white-picket-fence domestic about doing this together that gives Kevin a weird, squirrelly feeling in his gut when he sees the way their clean clothes wave gently under the weak breeze and relentless sun, one shirt still held in Elder McKinley’s hands as he screws up his mouth in concentration while tightening up a loose button. It’s almost idyllic.

His face feels hot, but that could just be the weather.

Elder McKinley finishes with his button and turns to Kevin with his hands on his hips. “This really needed to be a three person job, huh?”

“Redistribute the workforce more efficiently and it wouldn’t have to be,” Kevin says, pinching an extra clothespin around his fingertip.

“Aw, but who am I to stand in the way of true love?” Elder McKinley says, smiling at the lovebirds hanging around the doorway. Kevin shakes his head, pointing to himself with his clothespin-finger.

“No, I meant _me_. Please. I’ve been third-wheeling all week. Save me.”

The look that Elder McKinley sends toward him is full of a heartless kind of pity. “Elder Price. If you don’t do it, one of us will have to-”

“Well, yeah-”

“-and we agreed as a group that you’d be the best person for the job. As Elder Ghali was saying, Elder Cunningham and Sister Hatimbi are adorable, but we can only handle so much young love at one time.”

Kevin is at a loss for words. “That’s- that isn’t fair! You guys threw me under the bus!”

“Don’t worry,” Elder McKinley says, his voice soothing as he guides Kevin’s hands back down from the laundry he’s about to wrinkle in indignation. His skin is gently calloused and too, too warm. “To make up for it, you get to avoid bathroom duty for two weeks. It’s a trade-off.”

“Oh. I guess that’s worth it,” Kevin says, mollified. Besides, there’s no one he gets along with as well as Arnold and Naba anyway, even when they’re all over each other.

“See? I’m a fair and benevolent leader. You can trust my judgment.” The crooked smile on Elder McKinley’s face proves he doesn’t believe any of what he’s spouting.

“You’re flying by the seat of your pants like the rest of us,” Kevin tells him. “But that’s okay. We’re figuring it out together.”

“One day at a time,” Elder McKinley agrees. They listen in silence to the commotion coming from the house for a minute, just watching the rest of the congregation – their mission family – pass around lunch. From the corner of his eye, Kevin can see a wistful look pass over Elder McKinley’s face like the cover of clouds across the sky, and something catches in Kevin’s chest. Empathy pains. 

“Sometimes it feels the same,” he says quietly, because there’s a lot he doesn’t miss, but the sense of community isn’t one of them. The sense of belonging to something that mattered. 

“Sometimes. And some days it’s so different I wonder what the heck we’ve gotten ourselves into. But it’s not so bad. I think the most we can hope for is not to leave things worse off than when we arrived.”

“That’s surprisingly pessimistic.”

“Maybe I’m a realist,” Elder McKinley replies, and it strikes Kevin that he probably didn’t used to be. Whether the change started here, in Kitguli, or in a small town back home where he never fit in quite right, Kevin isn’t sure. Being here has brought Kevin back down to earth much faster than anyone’s words ever could have. There’s still that part of him that believes in being able to do good, even if he’s not sure _what_ to believe in, but he also knows he has to play pragmatist to Arnold’s visionary, to keep them balanced.

Elder McKinley is a mish-mash of District Leader, dormitory RA, and den mother, which leaves him usually trying to maintain some kind of order and responsibility for people just months younger than him. It means he’s usually the one who has to talk the other elders and sisters down from the project ideas they dream up that are beyond their means or abilities. Kevin’s seen him sitting at the dining room table with Elder Church at the beginning of every week to go over their budget because, according to him, “I suck at recruitment, but I’m pretty good at running numbers.” Having seen Elder McKinley look one breath away from a panic attack on more than one occasion, Kevin has to wonder whether the rest of them should officially relieve him of his leadership position to preserve his health, but then he’ll do something like suck in a hard breath and start laying out the step-by-step plan for their new construction project with Mafala, so maybe this has all actually been good for him? Jury’s still out.

So Elder McKinley is the mission babysitter, tasked with being down-to-earth, which he tries his hardest at. But sometimes it feels like there’s a light in him that wants to burst forth, that wants to hope for the best and find the bright side of things. It’s dim, like it’s been kept hidden down for so long that it should no longer be lit.

As if he’s been taught to turn it off.

“You can take a break, you know,” Kevin reminds him. Airily, as if it were an afterthought. Can’t go around making it obvious how much time he’s spent thinking about it. “Go ahead and enjoy the little things in life. Someone else can be the voice of reason for once.”

Elder McKinley shoots him a look, which, if Kevin had to dissect it, looks two parts fond to one part exasperated. “Who, you? You’re still a secret optimist, underneath it all. I don’t believe for a second that you gave up on the Disney Magic so quickly.”

Well, now that Arnold has immortalized some of the Disney canon into the word of God, it’s especially hard to escape it.

“Magic is for the naive, and love is for fools,” Kevin scoffs, just for the hell of it, and Elder McKinley laughs. 

“You sound like an evil witch. C’mon, Mr. Pessimist Witch, come inside and let’s see if Elder Michaels fell asleep in the middle of changing the sheets again. That boy needs to stop staying up so late.”

As they walk toward the hut, Kevin catches himself looking too long again. Eyes lingering where they shouldn’t, on things that will leave him burned in the end.

Watching a boy who eclipses the sun.

\--

First impressions are something Kevin used to think he was fairly adept at, but, retrospectively, most of the new people he met already knew someone he knew, and reputation means so much back home that it probably carried him quite a fair way in people’s eyes without him having to do much.

That’s not to say that Kevin doesn’t live up to expectations, because he _did_ – he did so well, and for so long that he thought it would be enough to fill up all the other little gaps and slips that seemed to crack through the shell he didn’t want people to notice he was carrying. Now, some days it feels like he’s an accident waiting to happen, but then he’ll watch Elder Schrader drop an entire tray of sesame balls and collapse to his knees, yelling at the ceiling, “Why, Heavenly Father, _why_?” and realize that it’s probably just a consequence of living in a new country with a bunch of other nineteen-year-olds.

He knows that his colleagues’ opinions of him took a serious dive within the first 72 hours of meeting them, but he thinks he’s been managing to repair his reputation since then. It helps that he’s more than willing to pull his weight, even with his over-ambitious schemes and occasional flirtation with nihilism again. All the elders have their quirks and habits, some personalities big enough to fill the mission hut all on their own, but they also work surprisingly well together when it comes down to it. Mixing and matching so they don’t always pair with their mission companion helps a bit too.

Kevin doesn’t really remember what his first impression of Connor McKinley was. It had all been kind of a blur, tied up in the mess with the now-reforming general, and the only thing that sticks in Kevin’s mind is that bizarrely spectacular tap routine. And his smile.

Elder McKinley has a whole repertoire of smiles. 

The “Let’s talk about the Book of Arnold” smile he wears from door to door. Bright, professional, hopeful.

The friendly yet slightly confused one whenever the village kids come running up to tug at his shirt in order to show him something they made at school.

The “nervous but I’m trying not to show it” smile that he plasters on when things start to get out of hand, like the time all the elders were playing truth or dare at three in the morning because none of them could fall asleep with the heat wave going. This one always quickly fades into hasty backpedaling and denial.

There’s the one that’s only ever meant for Poptarts – warm and pleased and a little bit indulgent – for some reason that Kevin hasn’t figured out yet. Maybe because they’ve known each other since before they were paired up for this mission. He finds himself wondering about this more often than he should.

But the one that sticks in Kevin’s mind most is the one that blooms like fireworks, one hand pressed against his mouth like he’s trying to hide it, until he gives in to the laughter overtaking his whole body. It hits Kevin like an electric shock the first time he sees it, and he stands there dumbly, holding the scissors high above his head while Poptarts claws at his shoulders. Arnold pats miserably at his head in the chair next to him.

“Why is- what did you _do_ -” Elder McKinley can’t even get a whole sentence out before he falls laughing into the couch next to a mournful Nabulungi. He sounds so genuinely amused that Kevin can’t even be offended.

“It seemed like a good idea when I suggested it,” Kevin says.

“Did it? You, an entire bag of coffee disguised as a human being, said to a room full of other mostly competent adults, ‘hey, you trust me with a pair of scissors, right?’ and they all agreed? I just-” And he collapses into giggles again. Naba still looks kind of downtrodden, but she smiles at this.

“I’m only 65% coffee,” Kevin protests. “Also, who the hell puts coffee in a bag?”

“Put down the damn scissors, Elder Price!” Poptarts demands, slapping at Kevin’s wrists. One of the taller guys could probably just take the scissors from him, but Elder Davis and Elder Michaels flew the coop earlier after seeing what became of Arnold and half of Poptarts’ hair.

“Yes, please put the scissors down. Or better yet, give them to me,” Elder McKinley says, after he’s finally gathered himself. Kevin hands them over but refuses to accept any shame, because it’s not like anyone else here was volunteering to be the barber either! He’s no worse than the rest of the bunch. “Oh em gosh, what did you let him _do_ to you, Elder Cunningham? All your lovely hair- just gone.” He runs a hand through the short-shorn remains of Arnold’s hair, now unfashionably trim around all sides.

Kevin crosses his arms. “He was complaining about to being too hot!”

“But you didn’t have to go so far, Kevin!” Nabulungi exclaims, and Kevin feels the smallest sting of guilt. She usually only calls him by first name when she’s particularly cross with him.

“It’s too late for me,” Arnold says, clutching Elder McKinley’s wrist dramatically. “Save Elder Poptarts.”

“He doesn’t need ‘saving’,” Kevin scowls, fingers cramping from air quoting so hard. Elder McKinley just shoots him a knowing look before making a shoo-shoo motion with his hands. Sulkily, Kevin goes to sit next to Naba.

“Please, Connor. Fix this,” Poptarts demands, pointing at his own half-finished haircut. 

“You actually look kind of cute,” Elder McKinley says, pushing his hands through the fluffy remainder of Poptarts’ blond fringe so that it sticks up like poodle fur.

“A third of my hair is missing! It isn’t cute!”

“I’ll see if I can borrow Elder Mutumbo’s electric clippers. If we buzz here and here, but keep this part long, it’ll almost look intentional.” Kevin watches the way Elder McKinley’s hands come up to frame Poptarts’ face, and notices a startling tug in the center of his lungs. Weird.

“That sounds so...punk,” Poptarts says, sounding unsure, and Elder McKinley grins at him.

“Want me to shave it all off except for a little strip in the back? Give you that classic Elder Williams look?”

“Oh my god, no! Anything but that!” They share a laugh over their private joke and there’s that Poptarts-exclusive smile again. It seems even warmer than ever.

A sudden thought hits Kevin like a fourteen-wheeler, and he reels. Nabulungi gives him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head, trying to give himself time to process this new theory.

Is...is Elder McKinley _in love_ with Poptarts?

Arnold had loudly and publicly declared that the Book of Arnold took a different stance on a number of things that Mormon doctrine condemned. “Caffeine is in, and chastity is out! Unless you’re into that, and then you just keep doing you!” And, very significantly, “Being gay is more than okay! Marry a man and seize the day! Lesbians too, hurray, woohoo! L, G, B, or T; who you are is fine by me!” 

“Are you a cheerleader? Why do these all rhyme?” Kevin had asked dryly, scribbling down his words in the next blank page.

“It makes it easier to remember in case anyone asks! Being gay is more than okay!” Arnold had yelled at Elder McKinley as he passed by with the broom.

“Th-thank you??” Elder McKinley had stuttered back. Kevin’s thumbs-up had only further confused him.

Elder McKinley has been looking more comfortable with himself recently, and Kevin assumed it had to do with knowing it was perfectly fine to accept all of himself. He had never expected that it might mean that Elder McKinley had already developed feelings for someone, least of all _Poptarts_.

But, then again, why not? They’ve been friends for a long time, they’re mission companions who clearly get along, and Poptarts might not be straight? Elder McKinley already sunshine smiles at him like he’s better than sliced bread. It could be a good match. Kevin wonders if they’re already dating, but then decides that he probably would’ve noticed by now. Elder McKinley’s the kind of person who would wear his heart on his sleeve if the world were kinder, and if he really were happily in love, he’d probably have sung it from the rooftops already.

For some reason, the thought of Poptarts – or anybody, it could be anybody; Poptarts is pure conjecture, really, just Kevin reading into things, into sidelong glances and special touches, and Heavenly Father knows he’s not always the best at reading people, Kevin knows it too – not returning Elder McKinley’s feelings strikes Kevin as particularly sad.

He’s grown closer to all the elders, but to Elder McKinley especially, second only to Arnold and Nabulungi. And Kevin thinks it shouldn’t be too much to ask for these people to earn their happy ending. To find their joy in life. Their Orlando, even.

“Elder Price. Elder _Price_. Anybody home? Elder?”

“Huh?” Kevin comes back to the present to see that Poptarts is now in the barber’s seat (one of their kitchen chairs) and that Arnold and Nabulungi have vanished. Elder McKinley is standing in front of the couch, head tilted in vague concern. Kevin is slightly alarmed that he didn’t notice him drawing so close, since the guy uses tap dance as his mode of transportation half the time. “Yes, Elder Price, that’s me,” he responds belatedly, like an idiot.

“I know, silly,” Elder McKinley says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. It draws undue attention to the pinkness of his lips. “I was asking if you’d like a haircut, too. Or do you only trust yourself to do it right?”

“I’d like…” _To know what it is about Poptarts that makes you glow like this. I’d like to know what it is about_ you _that makes the rest of the world look grayscale. How do you do it? Is it something I can learn? Tell me your black magic secrets._ “...to know where Arnold went?”

That is definitely not an answer to the question he was asked, but Elder McKinley just laughs, a microcosm of the fireworks from before, and points to the door.

“He and Sister Hatimbi went to see about getting those clippers for us.”

Oh. Probably to canoodle a bit under the trees too. Kevin notices Poptarts grimacing at his own reflection in the mirror, and has to ask, “You really think you can do a better job than me?”

Elder McKinley has the audacity to wink at him. “There’s no ‘think,’ about it, Elder Price. I’m not good at cutting hair, but I can’t really do much worse than you did. Don’t look so cranky; you’re still the best at putting together workbooks and carpentry without a hammer.”

“Damn straight I am,” Kevin mutters.

“While you sulk on the couch, you can decide if you want a haircut, okay?”

By the time Elder McKinley is done with him, Poptarts does kind of look cute. He also evens out the choppy lines of Arnold’s hair, gives Elder Michaels a pretty standard trim, and thins out some of Elder Zelder’s thick hair so his scalp doesn’t overheat.

Eventually, this leaves Kevin the lone holdout, sitting stock still while everyone with their functional new hairstyles watching him expectantly. Elder McKinley clicks his scissors together twice.

“Alright, _fine_.”

“Don’t break a limb with that enthusiasm.”

Kevin flops into the chair like a huge drama queen, which only works against him because he’s so damn tall that he whacks his elbow against the armrest while doing so, and then has to spend an embarrassing amount of time cradling his own arm while Elder McKinley examines his hair. 

The others dispersed after Kevin gave in, which means there’s no around to see the absolutely humiliating shudder that Kevin lets out when Elder McKinley cards his fingers through his hair. Christ Almighty, what even _was_ that? The hands in his hair pause, fingertips resting softly against his head.

“Sorry, did I pull too hard?” Elder McKinley asks, carefully removing his hands and patting Kevin’s hair back into place. He stopped using any kind of hair product weeks ago, and now his hair spends most of the time looking strangely windswept.

“Nope, I’m just- just peachy. All good. It’s fine,” Kevin grits out.

It doesn’t happen again, though he can’t help the little twitches and jumps that happen when Elder McKinley’s fingers brush against his cheek or his ear while lifting up a tuft of hair. He doesn’t even know why this keeps happening; Nabulungi touches his face all the time without giving him the jitters.

“Oop- hey, you need to stop squirming or I’ll cut off something you don’t want to lose.”

“I mean, if your hands are gonna be down there, I hope you put the scissors down first.”

It takes a second for Elder McKinley to catch his drift.

“Elder Price!!” he screeches, his face aflame. “ _Do not_. While I am holding a sharp object. Just don’t.” He clicks his scissors again, with more menace this time.

“Sorry,” Kevin mutters, properly chastised.

Kevin eventually gets his trim without losing any body parts and without Elder McKinley having a coronary, so it’s successes all around, really.

“There,” Elder McKinley says, exhausted. Still, he lifts his hands with a flourish to present Kevin to himself in the mirror. 

“Hm. I guess you really are pretty good,” Kevin says, running his hand through dark strands. Brushing against his cheekbones the same way Elder McKinley had earlier.

“I’m a miracle worker, sweetheart,” Elder McKinley scoffs. “Anyone else would have just shaved you bald the third time you almost pitched yourself off the chair.” Yeah, that might have been an overreaction.

“Thank you for your restraint.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re on your own next time.”

That evening, as he brushes his teeth next to Arnold, Kevin’s eyes catch on a cowlick that Elder McKinley hadn’t managed to cull, leaving it jutting it out awkwardly long. He considers asking if the other boy would be willing to finish the job, but then remembers the sensation of Elder McKinley’s skin against his, and decides he better just take care of it himself.

\--

The first time Kevin sees Elder McKinley really embrace their new cult lifestyle, it’s minutes to midnight and he’s sitting on one side of the couch, staring blankly at the clock above their small television, wondering, of all things, if his younger brother ever got the help he needed for his book project. The last he heard of it was in his final phone call home, and it’s been about a month since then.

It’s probably the least important thing he could be wondering about his now apparently estranged family, but he could never help the things his mind got stuck on.

He’s contemplating the idea of flicking through the local channels to watch whatever plays at night on Ugandan television, when Elder McKinley slips out of his room at the end of the hall looking wild-eyed and haunted.

The corner lamp in the den area is on, but it’s not very bright, so Kevin forgets that he probably isn’t too visible from the hallway. “Are you okay?” he asks, and nearly sends Elder McKinley to an early grave.

“Holy _shit_ ,” the other boy curses, tripping over himself and clutching at the wall for support. He turns his crazy eyes on Kevin, who holds up his hands to show he comes in peace.

“Oh, whoa, okay. I didn’t know you knew words like that,” Kevin says as he stands up to help. Elder McKinley claws his way over and Kevin kind of herds him onto the couch, where he clenches his hand around the armrest instead.

“You heard nothing,” he mutters, curling up his long legs on the couch so he’s rather pretzel-shaped. “This is just a very realistic dream.”

“My dreams aren’t usually this nice,” Kevin admits. Then he feels immediately embarrassed for some reason.

Elder McKinley looks at him in suspicion. “Is this what you consider nice?”

“No one’s being jabbed with pitchforks or waterboarded with coffee, so it’s already looking pretty good. And you’re not- uh.” He wants to backtrack on that slip of the tongue, but Elder McKinley has already caught it.

“SoI _am_ in your Spooky Mormon Hell Dreams?” he asks, leaning forward toward Kevin’s side of the couch. Kevin’s instincts tell him to shift back, to create more space, but he stays perfectly still instead, as if he’s trying not to scare a cat away.

“You’re, um, spectating?” Kevin says vaguely. There’s no way that he’s telling Elder McKinley just what exactly he’s been doing in Kevin’s dreams. They would both perish from mortification. “You kind of just...hang around while the devil tells me all the sins I’m committing.”

Elder McKinley wrinkles his nose in confusion, and Kevin is momentarily struck by how endearing the expression is. “That’s weird? Does your subconscious think I’m judging you for something? Because I’m not. Except when you get angry about losing at Rock Paper Scissors.”

“One, Elder Zelder is _cheating_ ; I don’t understand how none of you can see that he goes like a whole second after I do. And two, no, I don’t think it really means anything. Other people show up in my dreams too. It’s just guilt doing weird things to my brain.” Kevin declines to mention that Elder McKinley shows up more often than most, and that those dreams are rapidly sliding away from the Spooky Hell side of the scale toward...something else.

“Guilt-brain,” Elder McKinley sighs. “Tell me about it.”

“Did you have one too? Do you still get them every night, I mean?” Elder McKinley had confessed to it once when they were digging in the fields, that right after the Mission President left the dreams had gotten worse, jolting him awake at least once a night until a few weeks had passed in peace without the hand of the Heavenly Father striking him down.

“Not every night, but it still happens way more than I’d like.” He pushes a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, and Kevin can see the dark spots under his eyes haven’t gone away. 

“Anything I can help with?” Kevin offers awkwardly, unsure of what he could even do. Arnold likes making Kevin invent bedtime stories for him, fully aware that they’re universally terrible.

Elder McKinley gives him the shadow of a smile and shrugs. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think so. It’s just the usual. Guilt about letting my family down, proving them right about me. Guilt about not being able to do enough for the village. Guilt about joining a cult. Guilt about...other things.”

“The family thing sucks,” Kevin says, leaning back in his seat so his head lolls against the top of the cushions. “I really wish it didn’t, but.”

“It just is what it is,” Elder McKinley says with resignation in his voice that speaks volumes about how his relationship with his parents must be.

“Yeah.” Kevin turns so they’re looking each other in the eye again. “The cult thing is my fault. I’m sorry about that. You probably could’ve cut your losses until this.”

“You didn’t force me to join a cult, Kevin,” Elder McKinley laughs, before his eyes widen, face turning pink in shame. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry- I don’t even know why I said that-”

“No! It’s fine. It’s totally fine. You can call me whatever you want. Except a witch.”

“But that’s so very clearly what you are. You witch.”

“Oh, alright, fuck you too, _Connor_ ,” Kevin says, grinning when Elder McKinley– no, Connor turns a flustered shade of red that makes his freckles stand out even more.

“Language,” he reprimands, but he doesn’t say anything about Kevin using his name, so they’re both okay with that now, apparently. 

“Like you have room to talk. So. Guilt about not doing enough for the village is real. I think we need to have a community meeting again about what we should work on next, what supplies we’re in dire need of. It was helpful last time.”

Connor nods. “That’s a good idea. I’ll bring it up to Elder Hatimbi and Sister Kalimba tomorrow.”

Kevin deliberates for a moment about how to tackle this next subject, because it’s important, but he’s also kind of out of his element. Reassuring people is more Arnold’s thing than his.

“Which leaves us with guilt about other things. Is this about being gay?” he asks carefully, watching the way Connor stiffens. “I know it must not be easy to just change how you’ve been thinking about yourself for the last couple of years, but we’re all here for you, so just- don’t feel pressured to hide anymore, okay? Take your time, but don’t forget: being gay is-”

“-more than okay. ‘Marry a man and seize the day.’ Yep. I don’t think it’s possible to forget,” Connor says, looking somewhat touched and a tad baffled all at once. “Elder Cunningham probably has a future in advertisement if he ever moves back stateside.”

“Or politics. So,” Kevin coughs. This would be the ideal time to ask. Because if he knows, he can help. Not because he’s nosy. Or fixated on this in any way. “If you don’t mind me asking. Do you, um, have feelings for anyone? Someone here, maybe?”

Elder McKinley’s reaction all but confirms it. Kevin didn’t think it was possible for him to turn any redder, but he manages to pull it off. He looks like a strawberry. Kevin means that in the kindest way possible.

“U-um, what? I don’t have- there are no _feelings_ , Elder Price. It’s just- it’s _nothing_. Nothing. There’s not even- it was just a...a string of mistakes, because I was _confused_ , you know, just caught up in everything happening here. But I’m certainly not _in love_ with- with anybody. At all.”

His impassioned denial fizzles out at the end and his mouth wobbles a bit before he conjures up a watery approximation of the “nervous and hiding it” smile again.

“It’s okay, you know,” Kevin says gently, resting his hand on Elder McKinley’s very tense shoulder. Poor guy looks like he’s about to give up the ghost. “You guys have already been friends for a long time, and I really think Poptarts would understand, even if- um, well, let’s try to think positive. I think you have a shot, is what I’m saying. You should try telling him when you feel comfortable.”

Elder McKinley opens his mouth, then closes it. Blinks twice. Raises his pointer finger as if about to make a point before lowering it. Blinks again. “Telling...Poptarts? About my feelings? Do you think that I’m in love with Elder Thomas?”

Kevin pauses, his hand still sitting on Connor’s shoulder. “Well, now that you’re using that tone of voice, maybe not so much.”

“Oh, oh no. Elder Price, you beautiful, kind-hearted idiot-”

“Hey now.”

“I’m not in love with _Poptarts_. I swear.” He makes a noise of disbelief, a flash of fondness crossing his face before he shakes his head, looking at Kevin with what must be pity for the fool who is terrible at reading romantic interest. “We’ve been friends forever, and he’s very important to me, but it’s not like that. Really.”

“Are you sure?” Kevin presses, because what if Elder McKinley is just trying to repress this too? “ ‘Cause like I said, it would probably work.”

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty settled on the answer to this one.” He looks amused for just a moment, and a little bit like he’s in pain. “Should I ask where this idea came from?”

_Because sometimes you look at him like he lights up your life. And how bright must he be, to someone that shines like you do?_

“You called him cute?” Kevin says with absolutely no conviction.

“I also called Elder Cunningham and Sister Hatimbi cute, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get with either of them,” Connor says, rolling his eyes.

“It’d be okay if you did. But if you try to break them up, I _will_ fight you.”

“Completely understandable. I promise I will not try to break them up.”

“Thank you.” They fall silent for a short moment before Kevin sighs. “So we only addressed one of your problems, but maybe you should try sleeping again? See if it helped. You’re starting to get…” He gestures toward the bags under Connor’s eyes.

“I know. I look like a lemur.” He tries to stand, but the way he’s folded his legs must have left him with pins and needles, because he tips over onto his side in a heap. “Shit- ugh, not again.” His head rolls over on the seat cushion so that he can stare balefully at Kevin. “This is my life now, isn’t it? I can’t sleep, my legs don’t work, and my mouth is a den of filth.”

Kevin decides not to dwell on Connor’s filthy mouth and helps push him back into a more seated position.

“No, I think it’s good to let it all out. Therapeutic, you know? We’re already staying up past curfew. You might as well go all in and laze around slinging curse words with me.”

“Does it really help?” Connor asks skeptically. He’s still kind of sideways.

“Hell yeah it does!”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Just give it a try,” Kevin wheedles.

“No,” Connor says, drawing out the vowel.

“Mm, not quite. I think you can do better than that.”

Connor gives him a Look, but takes a breath. “Fuck no.”

“Aha! There it is!” Kevin crows triumphantly. “Now do it again.”

“No, no, once is enough.”

“Alright, then go to bed. C’mon, get up. Nice clean boys like you need their beauty sleep.”

He stands first, waiting for Connor, who grumbles a bit before trying to disentangle himself again. It starts taking way too damn long, so eventually Kevin just holds out his hands for Connor to grab onto and helps hoist him off the couch they’ve been fusing with for the last half an hour. At that point, it only seems logical to keep holding one hand as he leads Connor back toward the room he shares with Poptarts.

He delivers Connor to his destination, and then finds himself awkwardly hanging around.

“Well. Um, goodnight,” he says, finally releasing Connor’s hand. “Good luck with the sleeping.”

Connor cracks a slight smile and turns the doorknob. “Thanks. Goodnight, Elder Price.”

“Kevin- you can call me Kevin. If you want.”

“O-okay. Then, you can call me Connor.”

“Cool, thanks. I mean, good. I’ll do that. ‘Night.”

And with that astounding example of human interaction, Kevin returns to his own room. It still takes him twenty more minutes before he drifts off to sleep.

It’s not the end of their guilt dreams, but it’s a start.

  


Kevin continues to cross paths with a bunch of people in the middle of the night, since they each suffer a bout of insomnia once in a while. Elder Church more often than the others, and they never really talk about anything; they just sit at the window and drink Dr. Gotswana’s earthy herbal tea and watch the moon. Elder Zelder gets night terrors sometimes, but since his companion usually helps him through it, Kevin doesn’t see him much. Meanwhile, Arnold can sleep through almost anything.

Occasionally, it ends with a small group of them trying to play scrabble with the busted-up set left here some eons ago. 

And every once in a blue moon, he’ll wind up on the couch with just Elder McKinley again, with the others too worn out from a hard day’s labor not to crash right away.

“How many rounds has it been?” Elder McKinley asks, after losing at Candy Land again. “I think what I’m really asking is, how many damn times have I seen that gingerbread man now?”

“Eight,” Kevin says, studying Princess Frostine’s design. She looks like an off-brand Aurora, he decides.

“Why do we even have this game. It’s not good. It is, objectively, not a game meant for the age range of any person who has ever lived in this hut.”

“Good point. We should donate it to the school for the younger kids to play,” Kevin suggests, before muttering to himself, “What _is_ Gloppy? Is he a sentient chocolate monster? Is that gingerbread kid just straight up _eating_ him? That’s fucked up.”

“No more Candy Land,” Connor declares. “Let’s go outside.”

“Do you want to get eaten alive by the mosquitoes?”

“I want to sleep, but that’s apparently not an option, is it, Heavenly Father?” He shakes his fist at the sky, channeling Elder Schrader. 

As expected, bugs are out in full force, but luckily the scorpions aren’t, so they sit huddled under the mosquito net and look up at the night sky.

“I like looking at the stars. They’re so bright out here,” Connor tells him.

Kevin’s always been interested in space, because of the whole “get your own planet” thing, or maybe in spite of it. Which means he was basically obsessive about it for a year or two in his preteen years, and never really got around to forgetting the information, just in case he ever needed to impress someone with his vast astronomical knowledge. The moment never arose. Until now?

“That constellation is Phoenix,” he offers, pointing to the polygon of stars near Achernar to their upper left. 

“What? Where?” Connor squints at where he’s pointing, leaning in close to try and follow the line his arm creates. “Are you making things up to sound smart?”

“It’s real, I swear. I know it just looks like a kite, but it’s a very real constellation that some people invented a couple hundred years ago. See, and there’s a crane? These are the southern birds,” Kevin says, pointing to each in turn. Connor follows the movement with his head, and his hair brushes against Kevin’s shoulder with each movement.

“I don’t see it at all. It looks more like a really big butterfly,” he says, taking hold of Kevin’s elbow to point him at several bright stars. 

“That’s one gigantic constellation.”

“Fine, then this one’s a woman doing yoga, and there’s...a car battery.”

Kevin laughs, letting Connor direct his hand around like he’s a computer mouse. “Modern stars for the modern world.”

As Connor invents another newfangled asterism, Kevin finds his gaze lingering on the way he wears midnight, darkness like a familiar old cloak wrapping around him. The splay of his hand is broad against Kevin’s arm, still warm even in the coolness of the night. 

Kevin watches him and finds himself overcome with something new. Something really strange.

\--

Kevin used to keep track of the rules he’d broken since coming to Uganda. Just at the beginning, because it was hard not to keep rowing even when his boat was docked, after having spent every day of his life at sea. But being near Arnold makes these things easier; being near the other Elders who are bumbling their way through the same transformation, being near Naba and Mafala and the other people of Kitguli who are transforming alongside them.

Curfew. 

Coffee.

A whole goddamn fuckton of cursing.

Now, it’s grown easier, though he still feels that hiccup of tension right before he makes the conscious decision to ignore another of the church’s rules, even when they’re Arnold-sanctioned changes. Perhaps the guilt will fade someday, though Kevin suspects he’ll carry some of it with him all the way to the grave. 

This time, he hasn’t technically broken a rule yet, insofar as he’s concerned. Some other Latter Day Saints might believe otherwise, but like he told Elder McKinley when they first met, if he doesn’t act on this desire, then he’s done nothing wrong. Of course, the critical word here is _if_.

That “if” is starting to look shakier every day. Because. Okay. Here’s the thing.

Kevin might be having gay thoughts about Elder McKinley. 

And that’s a-okay!!!!

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s had thoughts like this about another boy. But it is the first time he’s ever felt this much, for anyone of any gender. It’s a weird situation to be in. Because it’s not like he knows what to do with it, this attraction. He’d always just ignored it before, no matter who the person was, because he figured it wasn’t part of the plan. There would be time to find a girl and get married later, after saving the world.

But now he’s here, eyes constantly drawn to red hair and a pretty mouth, and the plan is out the window, and he’s just stuck with nineteen years of inexperience and a whole lotta conflicting emotions about wanting to do things to his District Leader.

He’s not going to feel ashamed of this, he tells himself. He’s not going to turn it off either. He’s just going to let it happen, but also, simultaneously, pretend very, very hard that it isn’t happening, and never act upon it _ever_ , because Elder McKinley doesn’t need this kind of bullshit in his life right now. He doesn’t need the burden of Kevin’s awkward infatuation to deal with when he’s working out his own business.

So Kevin is dealing with it, because that’s what well-adjusted adults do. They acknowledge their problems, then let them simmer until they magically go away or ruin everything. It’s all good! Connor never needs to know!

It doesn’t have to be weird!! At all!!!

  


“You’re being weird,” Elder McKinley tells him matter-of-factly over breakfast, and Kevin almost falls out of his chair.

“First of all, how dare you talk to me before I’ve had caffeine-”

“Settle down, your majesty.”

“Second of all, I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying.” Good save, Kevin.

Elder McKinley squints incredulously at him. “What’s there not to believe? Do you need me to submit evidence? Want me to annotate it too while I’m at it? Do you want citations in APA or Chicago?”

“MLA?”

Connor makes a face. “Never mind. Keep being weird, see if I care.”

“What’s wrong with MLA?” Kevin calls after him, but he’s already leaving the kitchen. There’s no one else in the room, so there’s nobody around to comment on the way Kevin’s sight strays downward as Elder McKinley walks away. Goddamn, but does Connor sure have a pair of legs. And a very shapely...anyway, whatever, Kevin can have an embarrassing crush on Connor McKinley and still act like a totally normal dude.

It’ll be great!

  


“Are you mad at Elder McKinley, Kevin?” Nabulungi asks after the third morning in a row that Kevin does something bizarre as fuck and scares Connor away. This time, it’s because he almost ran into Connor while trying to enter the bathroom, so he just immediately turned around and went to pour himself a bowl of dry cereal and begin inhaling it while only wearing his undergarments. Elder Neeley had almost commented, but then decided to just keep eating his banana. Then, when Connor entered the kitchen, Kevin stood up and slowly, calmly fled the room, cereal bowl and all.

“No, of course not,” Kevin reassures her, then promptly excuses himself so he can splash water on his face.

So maybe Kevin is not quite dealing with it as well as he’d like. 

He tries to correct his behavior over the next couple of days, but there are still moments when he needs to put some distance between them so he doesn’t try anything stupid. He was hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable, but from the looks that everyone keeps giving him, he’s very wrong.

“Look,” Connor finally says, cornering him around the back of the mission house when Kevin volunteers to fetch today’s mail. There’s a substantial amount of menace in the way he closes Kevin in with the mailbox despite Kevin having an inch or two on him. “This is getting out of hand. We need to talk about this.”

“Do we? Need to talk? About something that you’re imagining?” 

“Yes, you jerk, we do, because it’s affecting our work performance. Sister Asmeret said she would shake one of us if we kept it up any longer. Is this,” and he leans in to whisper even though there’s literally no one else nearby, “about what happened at the post office? With the stamps?” 

Kevin doesn’t have even the tiniest idea what Connor’s talking about, but he looks genuinely concerned and sorry, so it must have been some incident that Kevin’s wiped from his mind in the last week alongside every humiliating moment where he caught himself blatantly televising his lust for the whole village to see.

“Yes,” he says, like the liar that Arnold has inspired him to be. “It’s because of the thing with the postage stamps.”

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t know it was such a big deal. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want something like this to get in the way of our- our friendship. Next time, we can decide on it together?” He is standing so close. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek from the planting they just started working on, and he smells like earth and leaves and sweat, which is not at all appealing, but that doesn’t stop Kevin from wanting to kiss him breathless anyway.

He doesn’t do it. Because Connor’s words catch in his consciousness – _I don’t want something like this to get in the way of our friendship_ – and he realizes he feels the same way. It would be a mistake to even bring it up. Connor might not even be comfortable with his attraction to other men yet, and Kevin can’t be sure he isn’t just fixating on Connor because he’s the only gay person he knows. And somehow, the knowledge that it can’t happen even if he wants it to, is enough to kick himself back into working order. He has to get it together.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Kevin garbles out. “I shouldn’t have overreacted either. Sorry I’ve been acting like such a lunatic.”

“So we’re good?” He sounds unsure, almost as if he’s used to being told no. 

“We’re completely good,” Kevin says vehemently. “Better, even.”

Connor stares at him for another beat, before realizing that he’s effectively trapped Kevin in place with his arms and hops back. Kevin forces him to stay until he’s gathered the mail and then he loops their arms together like they’re in The Wizard of Oz and marches Connor back to the garden.

“Everything’s normal,” he tells Naba, gesturing at their linked arms. “Look. Friends again. Please tell Sister Asmeret not to shake us.”

“If you say so,” she says dubiously. She glances at Connor for confirmation, and he shrugs back at her.

“Friends again,” he agrees, and she clicks her tongue at him for some reason but doesn’t comment any further.

Kevin gets put to work tilling the dirt alongside Mafala. The work isn’t easy, but it feels good to be able to turn and see the mounds that Nabulungi and Kalimba make with each seed they plant. It is, unfortunately, hot work, so by the time he’s done, his collar is hanging open and he feels burned all over, even though he made sure to put on sunscreen earlier. He tries to cool down by flapping his shirt to get some air moving, but it feels ineffective and he’s sure he looks dumb. Glancing up to see how high the sun has risen, his eyes meet Connor’s. Connor quickly looks away, back at the packet of seeds in his hands, but Kevin can see his cheeks turning pink, and he’s pretty sure it isn’t because of the sun.

Intriguing.

But Kevin also literally just promised himself he wasn’t going to do this, so he looks back at the rake that he’s leaning against and wills his heartbeat to slow down. It was probably just a fluke. No need to get tied up in knots over it.

\--

So now, Kevin has found himself facing a problem. Of sorts. An illness, one might call it.

“I think I might be catching feelings,” he confesses to Arnold one night. The lights are out, but he knows Arnold hasn’t fallen asleep yet because Kevin’s blanket is still where it should be. Just a few months ago, he would’ve kept this information to himself to stew over alone, but lately he’s been trying harder to remember that it’s okay to reach out. It’s okay to let others see the parts of you that you were told to keep hidden under the heavy carpet and behind the family photos. The secret, shameful, vulnerable parts, because what’s so shameful, really, about needing other people?

Arnold lets out a theatrical gasp, then remembers that the walls are thin and the others might be sleeping, and reworks it into a smaller, quieter gasp.

“What kind of feelings? Good ones? Bad? Scary feelings? Is it my fault?” he asks suddenly, hand clutching at corner of Kevin’s pillow. “Did I do something to you? I’m really sorry if I did!”

“No, I already had feelings for you, buddy,” Kevin tells him genially, reaching out to pat his best friend on the arm. This, he can manage. Arnold is so free with his praise, effusive with it, that Kevin can’t help but want to pay him back in kind. In his own, less overwhelming, way. “This is something different. Something that isn’t your fault.”

Except perhaps it is, a little. Because while not all these feelings directed _at_ Arnold, it’s definitely Arnold’s fault that Kevin has the wherewithal to open himself up to such a range of emotional responses, and now that he’s unlocked the gate, it’s like every ridiculous feeling has presumed to be allowed to take root. It’s trying on his sensibilities.

How do people deal with emoting so much, all the time? It’s exhausting. In the past, all Kevin really needed for and from other people was respect and praise and general goodwill. It worked well enough for about twenty years. Now he’s overwhelmed by the amount of _affection_ and _worry_ and _friendship_ being traded around like a disease, and it’s stressing him out. He’s never had so many people care before, and he’s never cared so much in return.

And if that isn’t bad enough, there’s all this _attraction_ nonsense on top of it, and whatever bullshit it is that makes him feel like he’s trying to phase from one state of matter to another whenever he hears a certain someone laugh, or sing, or whisper like they’re sharing an important secret–

–and basically, all in all, emotions are a fucking scam, and Kevin can’t be convinced that any of it is worth the trouble.

“Well, now you’ve got me worried, buddy,” Arnold says seriously, bless his pure heart. 

“It’s nice to have actual friends, but it’s also so much work,” Kevin complains. Because, despite himself, he does like being liked. He likes being surrounded by people whose well-being he cares about, whose opinions of him actually matter.

“Oh my god, I know, isn’t it crazy? We have, like, _so many_ friends now.”

“Yeah, and it sucks!”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re just overwhelmed because it’s new! But you’re a great guy and I know you’ll be the best friend you can be, because you always try your hardest no matter what. You’re already doing a great job!”

What the fuck, why is Arnold so goddamned nice?! And positive, to boot. What the _fuck_.

“You’re a monster, and I would die for you,” Kevin tells him very solemnly, and Arnold laughs his goofy laugh. 

“Definitely don’t do that! Then we wouldn’t be able to hang out anymore.”

“This is exactly why you need someone to protect you. Promise you’ll use me as a human shield if people try to attack you like they did Joseph Smith.”

“What the heck, Kevin? No way, dude. That’s not gonna happen. Please try and care about yourself as much as I care about you, okay?”

Ugh. “Fine, best friend. But only because you’re the one asking.”

Kevin turns in his bed so he’s facing the ceiling, satisfied enough to let things lie, but he can feel Arnold’s eyes still watching him.

Sure enough, “Is that all? No other, uh, more _exciting_ feelings? You know, about girls? Orrrr, about...boys?”

Lying is bad. So Kevin doesn’t lie, he just twists the truth back onto Arnold when he says, “What, like you have for Naba? Can you really picture me falling head over heels for somebody and gallivanting around like you two, acting all mushy and sweet?”

“Well, maybe not all dewy-eyed and Disney princess about it. More like the sourpuss rom com character who’s too focused on their career to find love.”

“What, no,” Kevin says, offended. “I’m clearly the handsome but distant bachelor who’s won over by the well-meaning and disruptive new addition to town.”

“Kev, _you’re_ the disruption, you know that, right?”

“Okay, yeah, in a very real sense, but that’s not my character.”

“Alright, well, in any case, my point is that I think if you start getting the flutters for someone it’s going to be hard for you to admit it. So I’m proud of you for opening up to me just now.”

“Don’t worry, there aren’t any flutters.” Just ill-conceived desire. “And even if there were, nothing’s ever going to happen, so it doesn’t matter.”

Arnold furrows his brow. “Why not? If you like someone, shouldn’t you go for it? Try a relationship?”

“Why? Because it would be inconvenient, Arnold. I’m really happy it’s working out between you and Nabulungi, but not everything can go that smoothly. We can’t stay here forever, even if we want to, and who knows what life will be like once we get back to America? Starting something here- it just wouldn’t be a good idea, when everything else is so up in the air.” Kevin hadn’t realized he had so many opinions on the matter until all the words came tumbling out. 

Arnold studies him for a second before reaching over and bopping him on the nose with his fingertip. “Listen to you. Was it inconvenient when Brigham Young had to learn to get along with the Romulans in order to save Gondor? Heck yeah, it was, but he sure did it anyway!”

Kevin frowns. “I thought Romulans were the enemy.”

“I take inspiration from more than one series,” Arnold says, before poking Kevin again. “What I’m saying is, just because it’s kind of annoying doesn’t mean it’s not good for you. You know I love you, bestie, but you could do with a little more pizzazz in your life.”

Kevin’s heart does a happy jump when he hears the word “love,” because Arnold is one of the few people who genuinely means it when he says it to Kevin, but it doesn’t stop him from frowning at the thought of having to just _deal_ with this emotional growth for the rest of his life.

“Are feelings pizzazz?” he asks, trying not to think about how dumb the question sounds. 

Arnold is starting to nod off, but he gives a weak thumbs-up, mumbling out, “Don’t try and turn them off, Kev. Just go with the flow. If you get the flutters, just let it happen.”

He plans to do the exact opposite of that, but Arnold is stubbornly keeping his eyes open until he answers, so he gives in and says, “Fine, if I somehow magically develop romantic feelings for somebody, I’ll just let it happen.” Good thing that’s not going to occur.

“Good, good.”

Arnold falls asleep first and Kevin lies there in the dark wondering how hard it’s going to be to adjust to sleeping without him in the room when he moves back home. Or to his own place.

He wonders if Arnold and Nabulungi will stay together, if they’ll try to make it work. He could see Arnold staying here, making a life with her in the village. He could also see Naba moving back with Arnold, the two of them figuring out the future together. 

Kevin doesn’t have a clear picture of his own future anymore. Where he’ll be, what he’ll be doing. It’s all a haze.

But if he closes his eyes and tries to picture it, sometimes he thinks he can imagine someone there with him. He can’t make out any details, the image unfocused and rippling like reflections on a pond, but there’s someone beside him. Someone to share a life with.

As he gives way to sleep, he tries to visualize it again, that could-be-future. The magic eight-ball of his brain still turns up “reply hazy,” but for the briefest moment, things come into clarity long enough for him to catch a glimpse of his someone again.

It isn’t enough time to notice anything helpful. The only thing he remembers when he wakes is that whoever this person is – whenever Kevin eventually finds them – they’re going to be _luminous_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this isn't actually an update! If you read chapter one previously, it's now been split into two chapters, because I realized that it was a pretty unwieldy size. Sorry about any confusion! If you're reading for the first time, then feel free to carry on, haha. Thanks!!

After the trials of his emotional affliction, Kevin manages to obtain a physical one as well. Somehow the common cold feels like a much bigger deal than it used to.

As most of the American elders and available Ugandan elders have paired off to go proselytize today, Middala and Sadaka leave a shopping list for Elder McKinley behind at the mission house. Kevin, being under the weather and generally unappealing to listen to at the moment with his cough strained voice, wheedles his way into being taken along for the errand run because he can’t stand the thought of doing nothing alone in his room all day.

“You’re grayer than the bus stop bench,” Elder McKinley tsks when they’re on their way to Kitgum’s market. “I should have left you behind to recuperate.”

“Left me to die alone, you mean?” Kevin coughs at him. “That’s cruel, Connor. I thought you were a nice boy.”

“Don’t call me by my first name while you look like you’re about to throw up. It’s offensive.”

“Your face is offensive.” It is. It’s making Kevin feel extra topsy-turvy on the inside, on top of his already upside-down stomach. Things have mostly gone back to normal between them, but that doesn’t mean that his pulse doesn’t skip when Connor brushes the hair out of his eyes when they’re working, or loosens the loop of his tie, or wanders into the living area still sleep-tousled and defenseless. But Kevin is a consummate professional, and only spends entire minutes mulling it over instead of letting it bring him to a standstill.

“You’re very witty when you’re sick,” Connor says, patting Kevin kindly on the back. “Buck up, buddy, we’ll get you some medicine at the market.”

Kevin is precisely as useful as a bucketful of fish guts, but Connor puts up with him anyway, using him as a very fragile pack-mule who can only hold about three light bags at once. 

Despite Kevin slowing them down, they gather everything they set out to get, including a nice bolt of cloth for Sadaka and a couple of assorted books for the school, which means they have some time to spare before they need to return home. 

Connor decides they should stay for lunch, so Kevin soon finds himself at a little plastic table with a bowl of hot bean soup.

“Sick kids need soup,” Connor says when Kevin tells him it’s way too hot today for soup, leaning on his hand to watch Kevin drink his lunch. He looks unduly amused. “This is a universal fact.”

“Kid? I’m only four months younger than you.”

“You asked me at least three times while shopping if we were done yet, you child.”

“You spent seventeen minutes looking at buttons and then didn’t buy any. I will never get that portion of my life back. You _owe_ me,” Kevin stresses, pointing his spoon at Connor.

Connor releases what must the most put-upon sigh ever to be uttered on Earth. “Fine, you can have seventeen minutes of my life to waste however you want. Happy?”

“Never.”

They wind up people-watching outside a coffeehouse, with Kevin merrily downing another cup of miraculous, soul-sustaining caffeine while Connor drinks a glass of ice water. 

“You sure you don’t want to try?” Kevin asks, tipping his cup toward Connor, who holds up a hand.

“Your boiled bean bathwater? No, thank you. Also, if you’re too hot for soup, why aren’t you too hot for coffee?”

“Connor, I’m too hot for a lot of things. I mean, look at me.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his ankles to show off his legs. It’s pretty much a joke, except for the part where Connor’s eyes do end up trailing down his body, so then the next logical, terrible idea is to uncross his ankles and start spreading his legs like some kind of invitation.

Connor glares disapprovingly. “Cease. Desist.”

Kevin bats his eyelashes at him and grins when Connor flushes despite himself. Nice. He probably should stop doing this, though. “Anyway, they make it iced, you know. Frosty cool, just like your soul.”

“Don’t talk about souls with me, buster. We’ve both booked a ticket to the Death Star at this rate,” Connor says, less upset than he would have been a few months ago. He sounds both resigned and relaxed about it. And less likely to go into a panic at the first sign of imminent disaster anymore. Herding a bunch of barely-adult dumbasses will do that to you.

“Well, at least you’ll be in good company. Besides, the Death Star is a journey, not a destination. Or something.” Kevin doesn’t understand enough about Star Wars to know if that makes any sense. “As long as we’re better people tomorrow than we are today, right?”

“Tomorrow is a latter day,” Connor agrees. He steals a look at Kevin’s cup, and then steals the cup itself. “Alright, fine, Elder Price, let’s see what all the hoopla is about.” He turns the cup cautiously around and finally takes a sip. His lips close around the spot that Kevin’s mouth had just occupied.

An indirect kiss. Welp.

This seems like the kind of thing only middle schoolers would be concerned about, so Kevin promptly Stops Thinking About It.

One sip is enough. Connor makes a disgruntled face and returns Kevin’s cup, telling him, “Yeah, I really don’t see the appeal. We should’ve bought ice pops instead.”

“Unhealthy,” Kevin reminds him, and then sends a quick thank you up above for being able to dissuade Connor from getting popsicles earlier. There’s no way he could’ve handled that today. Even thinking about it is bad for his blood pressure. Christ.

“Sugar is unhealthy, but eating burnt toast off the floor isn’t?” If Kevin didn’t know better, he’d say that Connor is pouting.

“Hey, I didn’t tell Elder Davis to eat it. I just implied it was still edible.” He shrugs.

“You really are just something else, aren’t you?” Connor says, shaking his head in poorly concealed amusement. “Please stop goading people into doing stupid things for your enjoyment. And stop leaving the box behind after you take the last of a snack; you know that drives Poptarts crazy.”

“It’s not just my own enjoyment,” Kevin insists. “I saw you cheering on the sidelines during the headstand competition. And Extreme Red Rover. You enjoy it too. You’re an enabler.”

“Shhh. You saw nothing.”

  


The bus ride out of town is unusually crowded, so they stand right beside each other at the back of the bus, laden with their many bags. Kevin is steadily starting to nod off, even with the bumps in the road and the stifling heat. He has one hand looped through a hand strap, which should be enough to keep him secured even if he’s not totally awake.

But when the bus rolls over a particularly big pothole, Kevin jolts out of his stupor and almost falls over. Connor manages to catch him before they tumble into a young couple, but some of the leafy produce gets a bit roughed up in the process.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks when it takes a minute for Kevin to stop blearily rearranging his feet so he’s more stable.

“Yeah, just a bit sleepy,” Kevin tells him, and assumes that’ll be the end of that. They’re almost back to their stop anyway.

But then they’ve exited the bus and Connor is still hovering over him like a speech bubble, looking like he thinks Kevin might collapse at any moment. He even begins divesting Kevin of all his groceries. 

“Connor, the potatoes weigh like a single pound. I can carry it, I promise you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Connor elbows Kevin away when he tries to take his bags back. It looks especially ridiculous because he’s just holding _so much stuff_. “I really should have left you at home. You’re starting to look worse than you did this morning.”

“I don’t feel worse,” Kevin insists, when Connor is suddenly in his space, peering into his eyes. _Too close_ , Kevin thinks wildly, as his vision swims with blue. He flits his gaze away, and instead counts the freckles that overtake his view. No southern birds here, but if he stretches his imagination, he can see the constellations that they made up on those sleepless nights: the skyscraper and the playground slide, the rotary phone and the goose riding a unicycle.

Modern stars for a modern boy.

“Your eyes are bloodshot and you’re the color of a salmon. I think you need more soup.”

Kevin swallows with some difficulty. “Please not Elder Michaels’ chicken noodle. I’ll clean his office for a week if you can get Dr. Gotswana’s squash stew for me.”

Connor hums ambivalently and draws back, giving Kevin enough space to breathe in air that doesn’t make him want to press in as close as he could possibly be. “Sure, I’ll give it a try. You look like you’re burning up though. We need to take your temperature when we get back.”

He reaches out a hand toward Kevin’s face, and Kevin is almost tempted to bolt. Already, he feels like he’s drowning in their proximity, and if they were to touch, he might lose his mind.

If he let Connor touch him, he would burn right up. Like kindling in the fire.

Like Icarus to the sun.

But Connor’s hand is cool against his forehead, and Kevin’s eyes fall shut for a second before he forces them back open. Now is not the right time for that. It will never be the right time, Kevin reminds himself.

“Well, you don’t have a fever, which is good news, but you still look so blehhh,” Connor says, making a face to match the noise.

“That’s just my face?” Kevin says, trying to look pitiful.

“Oh, no, don’t you go fishing for compliments, Kevin Price. I’m not feeding that ego. You are well aware that you’re…” And he waves his hand irritably at Kevin’s entire self instead of explaining.

“Very confusing. I have no idea what you’re trying to say,” Kevin scolds him. “Use your words, Elder McKinley.” It’s stupid to keep teasing him when he knows it won’t go anywhere, but he kinda needs to know if the cutest boy in the whole school thinks he’s pretty too. It would be nice if Connor could consider Kevin even a fraction as much as Kevin thinks about him.

Connor looks at him straight on and says, quietly but very clearly, “Fuck no.” His eyes are bright. The color of the sky before a summer storm.

Kevin brings an faux-offended hand up to his chest. “ _Wow_. There isn’t even anything I can say to that. You win.” Looks like the District Leader does have some bite under that sweet exterior. Also, especially after his minor crisis just now, there was something weirdly hot about this.

“I was taught by the best, darling,” Connor says as they pass the house that serves as the halfway marker back home. “But seriously, please go rest when we get home. If I let you die, I’ll never hear the end of it from Elder Cunningham.”

“Yeah, he’d probably be kind of pissed.”

When they finally arrive back home, Kevin is forced to go sit on the couch after taking his cold medicine. He gets to making math packets for the older students because he’s been banned from doing anything more taxing than that. Connor is sorting their purchases into groups at the dining table to deliver later when everyone else returns.

The radio is playing a local song that sounds familiar the way music does even when you don’t understand the words. Connor is humming along, his heel tapping along as he parcels out supplies. The afternoon sun shines in through the kitchen, casting long shadows across the floor, even as it bathes him in streaks of marigold. After a minute the song hits its chorus again, and he does a neat little shimmy, completely un-self-conscious about it, which means he probably hasn’t realized that Kevin is observing. For once, he looks just kind of at peace, swaying softly to the slow beat as the song tapers to an end.

The wave of pure affection that crashes into Kevin is both expected and staggering. It feels almost the same way it does when he sees Nabulungi’s brilliant smile as she bounces Kimbay’s daughter in her arms, or when Arnold falls asleep at the table and somehow gets pen all over his face.

It’s the plague of friendship again, Kevin knows, but he decides to just accept it for what it is. Having close friends is good. It’s nice. Even if being emotionally attached is kinda troublesome. And the physical attraction is a bit of a pain, too. Luckily, that seems to be a Connor-specific problem, and maybe in time, it’ll fade. And if not, well, Kevin will learn to live with it. It’ll be okay. It’ll stay contained.

\--

Of all the elders, Elder Michaels is probably the worst cook, followed by Arnold, and then Poptarts. Kevin is somewhere in the top three, because he’s functional with a pan and doesn’t maim himself, though his food can be accurately described as “bland” (Arnold’s words), “tasteless” (Ghali), and “the worst fucking mush I ever put in my mouth” (Asmeret). 

He’s supposed to be in charge of dinner tonight, so he’s chopping vegetables in the kitchen when Elder McKinley gets unceremoniously shoved through the front door by Elder Neeley, who bites out an “Elder Price, he’s your problem now,” before slamming the door closed.

“Did he just send you to the principal’s office?” Kevin asks, amused.

“I think he did,” Elder McKinley says, looking a bit dazed.

“I thought you _were_ the principal.”

“I think I’ve been fired. For nagging too much?”

“Sounds like wrongful termination; you should sue.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Elder McKinley wanders over to the kitchen counter to watch Kevin cut his veggies into blocky pieces. One sweet potato is crunchier than expected, and when he tries to chop through it, it slips away from under the knife and falls to the floor.

“Ack.” Kevin crouches to pick up his now dusty sweet potato and frowns. As he washes it clean again, Elder McKinley takes up the knife and begins cutting the squash. “I see how it is,” Kevin says. “You get fired from your job so you come and steal mine?”

“It’s a hard world, sorry. Besides, you can stay on as sous chef, if you’d like.”

“Fine,” Kevin huffs. “What does that require?”

Elder McKinley directs him to gather the rest of the ingredients, and then he just winds up watching as the rest of the produce is cut into nice, even cubes.

“How do you do that? In fact, how are you so good at cooking? Tell me your secrets, so everyone can stop complaining about how flavorless my food tastes.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You’re already pretty good; I think you just forget to add your spices at the right time.”

“Yeah, but I should be better by now. It’s been over half a year.”

“Keep practicing and you’ll get there. That’s what I did. We can’t all be magically amazing at everything we touch, Elder Price,” and from another person, Kevin might take it as a jab, but the way that Elder McKinley says it, with a smile curling around his words and his hip bumping gently against Kevin’s own, sounds affectionate. As if he likes that Kevin is a recovering trainwreck perfectionist.

Kevin decides to just own it. They’ve known each other to be worse. “Maybe not, but you’re not a good example of regular either. They made you district leader for a reason, so you must be more than adequate at most things.”

Elder McKinley shrugs. “When your whole life is ‘fake it until you make it,’ you can get really good at tricking people into thinking you’ve got everything under control. Sometimes you get so great at deception that things really _are_ under control, at least for a little while. But in reality, I’m excellent at exactly four things.”

“Prayer, penmanship, pestering, Pilates,” Kevin guesses, trying not to preen a little when Connor rewards him with a laugh.

“Not quite,” he replies, pushing all the cut squash into a bowl. “Cooking’s one. Organizing is another.”

“So you can look forward to a great career as a butler when this all eventually falls through.”

“That’s the fallback,” Connor says dryly, flicking a sliver of squash at him.

“Well, don’t resign yourself to that just yet,” Kevin says. He leans back to rest his elbows on the counter, watching Connor cook without doing anything to assist besides acting as an attractive onion rack. “What’s number three?”

“The ol’ razzle dazzle.” He does a little shuffle ball change before picking up the knife again, giving Kevin a sideways look. “What do you think? Do I have a future on the stage?”

Kevin could see it. There’s a certain quality that Connor has, a kind of genuine, boy-next-door sweetness that makes it hard to picture him as a leading man, but he would make an awfully winsome supporting actor. The kind that draws your attention a bit too much and leaves your heart wondering why he’s still on your mind days later. Months, even.

“I would come watch you. I’ll be your number one fan. Look for me in the front row.”

“Honey, no way could you afford the front row.”

Connor’s been using more pet names for everyone recently, now that they’ve all gotten to know each other, and Kevin knows it doesn’t _mean_ anything, that it’s just his way of being friendly, but something about it still makes his heart skip a beat. It’s dangerous.

“Excuse you, I’m _the_ Kevin Price? I can afford whatever the fuck I want?”

“Okay,” Connor laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m apartment hunting and need someone to spot me a couple million dollars.”

“Million- where are you planning to live? A gold submarine?”

“Real estate isn’t cheap in New York, Kevin.”

“New York City? Is that where the good butlering gigs are?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

Kevin thinks it over for a minute, then nods. “New York is doable. Kind of busy, but I could probably get used to it. I accept.”

Connor snorts as he throws the onions into the pot with a splash of oil. “Oh, you accept, do you? The great Kevin Price finds my place of residence satisfactory? Thank goodness. Whatever would I have done if he didn’t approve?”

“Shut up, I’m not talking about you,” Kevin says, laughing when Connor just rolls his eyes dramatically again. “How can I be your number one fan if I live in Charleston or Anchorage or something? That’s cost-ineffective, and I know you love financially sound decision making.”

“Ooh, baby, now you’ve really got me going. Talk financial responsibility to me.” He says it wryly, but Kevin’s pulse does a drumroll all the same.

“Honestly, though, you’re going to have to live with nine roommates in Queens.”

With a groan, Connor pushes him away from the counter. “Why did you have to ruin my fantasy with realism? Boooo.”

“I just want you to have attainable expectations!”

“What happened to that million dollars you were gifting me? At the very least, do the decent thing and room with me. You can help pay the rent.”

“Okay,” Kevin says easily, because this is a hypothetical, a joke between friends, so it’s totally okay if he sounds like he’d be happy to keep living with Connor even after they return. “I’ll be a part-time bartender, part-time window washer, and part-time student while you chase your dreams. We’ll only need everyone else here to live with us for this to be sustainable.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Connor has Kevin add the spices and vegetables to the pot as he gets to measuring out some water. As Kevin is stirring everything together, he remembers to ask, “What’s your last talent?”

A tiny smile flits into existence just as quickly as it disappears. Connor turns to look Kevin in the eye before telling him, face completely serious, “Blackjack.”

Kevin tries to cough at the same time as he inhales and winds up choking on nothing. “No,” he breathes out, scandalized.

“It’s true. Got all the lucky genes in the family, can you believe it?”

Luck isn’t the word Kevin would use. He also thinks this might be the only thing of worth Connor’s ever received from his family, but he keeps that to himself. They’ve talked about it before, how nothing Connor does will ever be good enough for his parents, how they find a way to be disappointed in him no matter how well he succeeds. And now, with his decision to remain in Uganda, Kevin gets the sinking feeling the fallout will be monumental when Connor sees them again.

“Got all the card counting genes too?” 

“Counting cards isn’t allowed, Elder Price. Shame on you for thinking I would ever.” He sounds so pointedly innocent that Kevin rolls his eyes. 

“ _Playing_ cards isn’t allowed either, Elder McKinley,” Kevin snarks back. “And yet.”

“I had a cousin who taught me,” Connor admits. “Even when we were kids it was pretty clear that her family was becoming less and less involved with the church. But we used to visit when I was younger anyway, and this is the most wholesome thing we could’ve been getting up to, considering how much she liked to try and sneak into the movie theater without paying.”

Kevin’s gasp is only half-faked. “Wow, you were _wild_ , weren’t you? Next you’re going to tell me you hot-wired cars and sold contraband candy out of your locker in middle school.”

“Never _that_ wild. Not that it mattered to my folks.” His expression dims and Kevin wants to fly back to the states and fight every single person that ever made Connor feel like less than he is. Because how could they be so stupid, so willfully ignorant?

How could they look at Connor and not see the dedication, the loyalty, the care that he puts into all his work and all the people he loves? How could they not see everything he’s given to be who they want him to be in order to survive – the steel he built stable around his glass heart, growing into the sapling that could weather the storm?

How could _anyone_ look at Connor and not be blinded by how radiant he is?

Kevin wants to say it, to tell Connor that he’s worth so much more than anyone has ever told him, to make it clear that even if no one else sees him, Kevin does– 

– _you are the flint and the spark and the flame_ – 

–but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding cheesy, and besotted, and a complete fool with an infatuation visible from the International Space Station. Because, if he’s being honest with himself, he might have started feeling the tiniest of flutters around Connor. The emotional kind. The more than friends kind. And that’s even worse than just wanting to push him up against the wall and make out with him.

So all he can do is grimace and put his hand on Connor’s arm and tell him, “Well, full offense to them, but I like you like this.” There. That’s friendly enough.

“I- um, thank you,” Connor says, a glimmer of light returning to his eyes. “I like you the way you are too.”

“Okay, but now that we’ve gone full children’s show friendship lesson on each other, I have to ask: you couldn’t have learned Go Fish or Crazy Eights?”

“She taught me poker, too. It’s not my forte, but I can win a hand or two.”

“Well, I know what we have to buy next time we’re at market.”

Connor gives him a skeptical look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Scrabble didn’t go very well last time.”

Kevin shrugs it off. “That was different. My pride as best speller in Mrs. Holland’s fifth grade class was on the line. This time, I just want to see your vicious card shark side.”

“Okay, but it might not be pretty,” Connor warns him as he turns up the heat on the stove.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Kevin says, taking the cutting board over to the sink. “You’re always pretty.”

“Sweet talk me all you want, but I’m still gonna make you help with the dishes.” Connor continues stirring resolutely, but his cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink again. Kevin’s self-restraint is maybe not so good.

“Demoted to sous chef, and now to dishwasher? The management here sucks. Who can I complain to?”

“I think they promoted Elder Church after their coup, so I’d try taking it up with him.”

Kevin finishes cleanup as Connor continues cooking, and then he sets the table for fourteen. The bowls are chipped in places and the silverware is mismatched and tarnished, but it’s come to signify home to Kevin. This collection of odd pieces that work together to function. It fits them.

“Can I call the others in?” Kevin asks as he wipes down the counter near the sink. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, we should be all good,” Connor tells him, looking distracted as he adds a pinch more salt into the pot. Switching the heat off, he moves to place his wooden spoon aside and goes to grab the handles of the pot, forgetting that the whole thing is cast iron and bound to still be searing hot.

“Whoa, hey, you’ll burn your hand,” Kevin says, throwing the dishrag at him. Startled, Connor instinctively reaches to catch it, and Kevin takes the chance to pick up the pot holders and herd him out of the way.

“Oh, right, of course.” Connor shakes his head. “Last time I did that, I had to slather on aloe vera for weeks.”

“Even you zone out sometimes, I see.” Kevin moves the pot over to the table and begins ladling out servings. “Nah, I’ll take care of it,” he says when Connor moves to take over for him.

“I tried to catch a falling knife once,” Connor confesses.

“What the fuck, Connor, no! This is like safety 101! Do you also put out candles with your forehead?”

“It was fine! I didn’t lose any fingers and I totally learned my lesson. Never again, I swear. Although, I did almost do that thing the other day, you know, like in cartoons when they step on a rake and smack themselves in the face?”

“Oh my god, you’re a health hazard. I’m going to have to watch you constantly to make sure you don’t accidentally lop off a limb.”

“The principal does not need a babysitter,” Connor says tartly, and Kevin sighs at him.

“No, but the principal needs looking after just like every other human being does. C’mon, let’s sound the dinner bell.”

  


Dinner is as noisy and cozy as ever, and Kevin almost laughs himself off his seat when Nabulungi does her impression of Elder Davis trying to get invited into the home of the old woman in the next village over. After everyone clears the table and disperses for the evening, Kevin walks Kalimba and Asmeret home. They tease him the whole way about his dinner tasting suspiciously better than usual.

When he returns to the mission house, a bunch of the others are already sitting a circle playing some twisted amalgamation of Trouble and Mafia. Kevin slides into the free space on the floor beside Connor, who has already been eliminated, and they watch as Elder Schrader tries to defend himself against Arnold’s accusations.

“Your luck doesn’t extend to these kinds of games, does it?”

“Not enough to keep me from being knocked out,” Connor says ruefully, turning a peg over in his hands. 

“You know, you’re fantastic at way more than four things,” Kevin says, slightly out of nowhere. The topic has been weighing on him for the last few hours. “Like keeping a household together.”

“Just another one of my butler skills,” Connor says, deflecting the compliment, but he looks silently pleased.

They continue to watch as the game devolves into anarchy. At one point, Connor’s hand comes down to rest on the floor right next to Kevin’s, close enough that they brush against one another whenever one of them shifts.

Kevin’s instincts tell him to withdraw, but he remains. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than the casual touch between two friends. If he _wants_ it to mean more, that will remain a secret between himself and God.

\--

Kevin, despite his many shortcomings, really is becoming better at learning things about people. 

He knows the ins and outs of the ongoing squabble between Elder Schrader and Elder Davis about the bathroom that escalated from an argument about the toothpaste cap up to warring over shower times. He knows that Sadaka’s favorite hobby is painting and that the picture hanging in the hallway of a tree at sunset took her two months to complete. Elder Church’s favorite flower is lavender, because his mom likes to fill cloth sachets with it and leave them around the house. Nabulungi’s mother passed away the same month, but two years prior to Poptarts’ sister. There’s a stretch of days that they spend quietly in one another’s company.

Dr. Gotswana’s daughter is the brightest fourteen year old at the school and wants to learn as much about chemistry as she possibly can. Mafala hates puns but loves riddles.

Ghali greets every morning with a jog around the village and a cup of coffee at the stand. Elder Michaels used to be close to an Olympic level swimmer back in high school. Elder Zelder knows every line of Ghostbusters. Asmeret has developed an affinity for both engineering and Tolkien lore. 

He collects these facts like he’s learning the book again, noting the way Kalimba’s jokes always make Kimbay smile, and how Elder Neeley can imitate any birdsong he hears. There’s something satisfying about it, being close enough to a group of people to know these things about them. Wanting to know more, and feeling a strange sense of honor that they’re happy to spend time with him.

But, minus Arnold, there’s nobody Kevin has studied quite so well as Connor.

Connor sleeps late and wakes early and he eats his bread plain, untoasted and unbuttered. He still wears a tie every day even though it winds up loose around his collar more often than not. He’s ambivalent toward insects but he hates getting bug bites more than anything, and he won’t hesitate to throw an entire book at a cockroach. 

He isn’t half as good at sewing as Kevin or Kimbay are, but he likes to embroider crude little flowers and turtles and birds on the children’s clothes that they collect like trading cards. There’s nothing he can’t make up a song about, and his internal clock is shockingly accurate. Any time the radio is on, he has to listen until he hears the next day’s weather report. Poptarts keeps a running tally of how many times Connor manages to bump his hip against the corner table despite his usual grace. 

Connor loves thin-crust pizza and wool socks and the crappy, run-down car he inherited from his older brother. He played cello for two years in elementary school before giving it up in favor of being a background townsperson in the school play. There’s a scar above his left elbow from when he tried to catch his sister as she jumped out of a tree and slammed his arm into a rock. 

His favorite Disney movie is a tie between The Little Mermaid and Lilo and Stitch, but his favorite princess (“look, I know she’s not actually one of the princesses, but don’t start on semantics with me, Kevin.”) is Megara. He apparently sucks at ice skating and skiing and sledding (“how can you be bad at _sledding_?” “you will never find out.”) but his frosted Christmas cookies are to die for. He’s afraid of small, dark spaces, and he likes water slides more than roller coasters. His cursive is textbook perfect, but Kevin prefers his print handwriting, which is neat but spindly.

Kevin has memorized the way Connor’s eyebrows knit together when he’s concentrating on something he’s not very practiced at yet, and the way he drags a hand roughly through his hair when he’s trying to cool down. Having seen Connor shirtless twice too many times for the good of his heart, Kevin knows that the freckles go past where his imagination can safely wander. Connor’s got the learned poise of a dancer, that manifests in deliberate footsteps and the occasional snappy hand movement, but some days, he just hovers in a slouch next to everyone eating breakfast, clearly not awake yet even if he’s dressed. 

Kevin knows by heart the sound of Connor’s laugh, the cadence of his words when he’s about to sass somebody, the rhythm with which he makes his pitch for the good book of their prophet.

It’s not even that Kevin is actively trying to learn about Connor more than the others. Connor just seems to burn brighter than anyone Kevin has ever met, even when he’s doing something completely ordinary, or standing on the sidelines. Like a solar flare. 

He almost says it out loud, once. The things he’s been noticing about Connor, the way that noticing these things makes him feel. But he’s a little bit tired, and perhaps (definitely) a little bit drunk on the contraband alcohol Mafala let them have. 

They’re throwing a small party, because with everyone’s combined efforts they’ve managed to baptize another five people this week. People are milling around with food and dancing along to Arnold and Poptarts’ tipsy singing. Kevin is too full on sweets and just finished downing the last of whatever burning moonshine was in his cup, so he’s decided to seclude himself at the top of the slope to watch the festivities below.

He’s the one who suggested the celebration in the first place, happy to help set up a cheery event to congratulate everyone on their dedication and hard work paying off, but he’s a tad too sleepy to engage much more. 

Coming up over the curve of the hill is Connor, eyes sparkling, face a little flushed, and everything that Kevin ever wanted. Somehow he brightens even more when he catches sight of Kevin.

Kevin has to close his eyes briefly, just to file away this image for the future, because someday he’ll want to remember his time here through the unreliable snapshots of his own memory.

“There you are, Mr. Party Planner! We were wondering where you wandered off to.”

“I don’t even know how I got up this hill with my jelly legs,” Kevin says, as Connor sits down beside him. “Or how I’ll get back down.”

“I’ll roll you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks. I can always count on you,” Kevin says through a yawn. “Or maybe I’ll just sleep up here?”

“And let the scorpions take you? Not on my watch.”

Kevin is about to respond, but then he catches sight of Arnold down below, glancing around before leaning forward to peck Nabulungi on the cheek. From Connor’s little gasp, he witnessed it too.

“Ha. Smooth,” Kevin says with a grin when Naba does the same exact thing. Neither of them think to look up the slope.

“But not too sneaky,” Connor laughs. “Seeing them gives me butterflies sometimes. They’re too cute.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

Connor gives him a flat look. “Don’t even start with me. You’re their biggest fan.”

Kevin can’t even deny it, so he shrugs and does something stupid instead. “I wonder what it’s like, sometimes,” he says, alcohol impairing his ability to keep comments like this to himself. He watches fondly as Arnold takes Nabulungi’s hand and they walk back toward the rest of the party.

“What, being in love?” Connor asks lightly. When Kevin nods, he tilts his head upwards to watch the gray clouds in the darkening sky float by. “It’s probably a bit different for each person. I always thought of it as knowing the answer to a question even before it’s been asked. Because you already know who your choice will be. If that makes any sense.”

“You’ve been in love before?” Kevin asks, turning to look at him. Under the fading light, he looks softer, more open. There’s an expression on his face that Kevin can’t quite read, but something about it makes Kevin’s chest twinge.

“Yeah. I think I have.” He says it simply, without further elaboration, and for some reason, hearing this hurts too. It’s because Kevin is selfish. If Connor’s gone and fallen in love, why would he ever look twice in Kevin’s direction?

“Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know yet,” Connor tells him honestly. “Sometimes it’s scary, knowing that one person can mean so much to me, but I also can’t regret it.”

“Even if they never return your feelings?” Kevin doesn’t mean for it to sound cruel, but all the same, he wants to know. He wants to know if there’s any universe in which he would have had a chance, if things had been a little bit different. If they could have fallen for each other.

It’s not fair, because Connor’s in love, and all Kevin has is a silly crush. It doesn’t compare. But, hopelessly, he wishes it did.

_I could be your answer_ , Kevin wants to say. _I might not always be right, and I might not be the best, but I could try. For you, I would. You could be my answer too._

Connor pauses for a moment, planting his hands against the dry grass and taking a heavy breath. It’s like he’s letting go of something with the exhale. “Even then. I’m not going to feel guilty about my emotions anymore. I’m not going to turn it off. Even if he never feels the same way for me, that doesn’t mean I can’t hold onto the way he makes me feel. Maybe it’s pathetic, but…”

“I don’t think so at all,” Kevin interrupts him. He doesn’t focus on the pronoun Connor used, but it’s been filed away in his mind. “I mean, I don’t know what it’s like, but I think it’s brave of you. To stay true to yourself even if it hurts. I hope I can handle it with as much dignity as you do, if it ever happens to me, instead of a- well, a Kevin Price Spectacle, if you know what I’m getting at.”

A tiny laugh escapes from Connor’s mouth. “You’re very good at those. And it might not be a bad thing. Some people like their lives a bit more dramatic. I like being the center of attention sometimes, too.”

There’s no way that he’s saying he likes being the center of Kevin’s attention, but the urge strikes Kevin anyway, to try and explain his case. To show Connor just how much of a spectacle it’s already shaping up to be. 

But neither does he want to just come out and say it, because he’s been doing such a good job of letting this torch he’s carrying not get between them again. So, drunkenly, he grasps at the only words he can. The only explanation that can sum up what he’s been feeling.

“What makes a star a sun?”

Connor blinks at him, confused by this non-sequitur, but he gamely tries to answer anyway. “I don’t know- are there other suns? Isn’t that just a name for _our_ star? If I had to take a guess, I’d say a star would have to have, like, planets and stuff to be a sun.”

“A planetary system,” Kevin agrees. “What’s the path that a planet takes around the sun called?”

“Are you quizzing me?” Connor asks with a bemused smile. “Orbit, right? Planets circling around the sun are in orbit.”

Right so far. “And what keeps them there?”

“...gravity?”

Exactly. The attraction between two objects. Space and time themselves curving to bring the two of them closer together. That’s what it feels like to be around Connor.

Kevin scrubs his hands across his face with a laugh, treading toward slight hysteria because there’s no way to explain this conversation without laying his heart out bare. It’s no good. He can’t say it. “Yeah, you got it. 10/10, congrats.”

“I passed your pop quiz? Thank Heavenly Father. Do I get a prize?” Connor teases, and Kevin wants nothing more than to take a page out of Arnold’s book and press a kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry, I didn’t prepare anything,” he croaks out.

“How unprofessional.”

“You can test me back? That would be fair.”

“Alright, but on what?”

“Anything you want. Whatever your heart desires,” Kevin says, extending his arms out like a loon and almost smacking Connor in the chest.

Connor purses his lips briefly, before deciding, “Okay, let’s see how much you know about musicals.”

Kevin knows next to zilch about musicals that don’t involve animated animals, and thoroughly embarrasses himself for the next ten minutes, but Connor doesn’t seem to mind. They sit together up on the hill until evening has faded into night and Nabulungi comes up to fetch them. Kevin helps pull Connor to his feet, but then finds himself a little wobbly so Connor and Naba escort him back down, each of them holding one of his hands. Thinking about Connor’s fingers entwined with his own is too much to bear right now, so he focuses on Naba instead. Her hand feels so small against his, but no less firm in its grip. She notices him looking down as they walk, shooting unsubtle glances toward Connor, and she smiles, using her free hand to poke him in the forehead.

“Do not worry. I’ve got you,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. In this moment, he remembers why he loves her so, and he smiles back.

They safely make it back down the shallow incline without any injuries, and then promptly dump him on Arnold for safekeeping. He and Arnold spend a few minutes making faces at each other as the party winds down, but soon enough he’s being herded to their room to be put to bed.

“I should help clean,” he mumbles at Arnold, who leads him forward.

“Not today, my friend. You did the preparations, so the rest of us will take care of it. Sleep now, little buddy.”

Kevin does have the presence of mind to quickly brush his teeth after Arnold leaves him, and on his way back to his room he spots Connor down the hallway, carrying a broom back outside. He sees Kevin and gives a little wave; disoriented, Kevin waves blankly back before trying to walk into a wall. He finally manages to finagle his door open, and as he’s closing it behind him, he catches sight of Connor looking backwards as he departs, his eyes pensive and his mouth curved into an understated smile.

As Kevin falls asleep, he remembers another important item on his long list of mental notes all about Connor.

The last thing that Kevin has noticed recently, the one that clings to him like the scent of the lilies that grow tall in their garden, is that he’s discovered Connor has yet another smile.

This one is shy, but unguarded; a slip of an expression that Kevin only catches from his peripheral vision. Soft at the corners and ever so slightly sad, like Connor knows that something isn’t going to happen.

Kevin wants to ask what it means, but he never catches sight of it at the right time. It always vanishes faster than he can gather the words for his question, just like tonight. It isn’t until he’s deep in a dream that the question finds form.

_Why do you smile at me like I’m leaving you behind?_


	3. Chapter 3

On Poptarts’ birthday, his parents call him. Kevin figures that after losing one child, they’re not going to let anything stand between themselves and their son, and he admires that. It’s clear that they’re worried about him, but from the expression on Poptarts’ face when Kevin passes by, they still all clearly care about each other. It’s reassuring, somehow, to know that not all family situations are like Kevin’s.

He hasn’t spoken to his family in over six months. Maybe it’s for the best. Kevin’s come to the slow realization that while he still loves his parents, he’s not sure that he actually _likes_ them very much, especially his father. He thinks the feeling might be mutual.

It hurts to consider, but he suspects that they always cared about his image more than they cared about him. And he doesn’t even have that anymore.

And if they did love him, it doesn’t hold a candle to the way Mafala loves Nabulungi, or Kimbay loves her baby girl. There’s never been a time when Kevin looked at Mafala and Naba and expected him to find fault with her just because he could. They have their disagreements, but it’s clear Mafala treasures her more than anything else in this world.

Kevin doesn’t know if he could say the same about his own parents. His siblings, maybe. He loves them in a way that feels unconditional, that he’s never felt for anyone else. If he can’t repair what he broke when he gets back, it would be hardest to forgive himself for losing them.

Everything else just feels kind of numb. Like there was a sort of uncovered inevitability about it all.

He’s doing his best to soldier on regardless. It’s not that he doesn’t feel sad about it, but it’s also a problem he can’t actively solve right now, so he places it on the back burner. He’ll have time to stew on it later, like during the plane ride home. Part of the issue, Kevin realizes, is that while he’d be happy to reconcile, he also doesn’t plan to apologize for what he did and who he is. He’s not doing that anymore. So the question really becomes: can they handle knowing that?

With his family being intentionally kept out of his everyday thoughts, it’s a surprise when he wakes one morning and finds that there are tears at the corners of his eyes. The morning light is still weak, and Arnold fast asleep a foot away, but Kevin feels a sudden, melancholic ache that cuts him deep between the ribs. 

He doesn’t remember what his dream was about, except the fading image of Jack pushing him and Adam on the tiring swing in the front lawn while Mom trims the gardenias nearby with Emma and Grace. It feels halfway between a memory and a daydream, like he’s mourning something that he used to think he had.

He almost wants to tell Arnold about it, but family is a weird subject for Arnold too. Kevin knows they’re still in communication with each other, but the phone calls are usually quite short, with Arnold’s half of the conversation littered with one-word answers that stand out in such contrast against his usual rambling. He never seems unhappy, but neither does he seem completely like himself. Kevin doesn’t want to disturb him over nothing when he’s sleeping so peacefully.

Leaving the comfort of his bed seems like the right course of action, for some reason Kevin can’t verbalize. With muted steps, he shuffles out of his room and into his shoes, going to huddle outside in nothing but his sleepwear. It’s not cold out, but the air is cooler than usual against his bare skin, and the sky is dip-dyed coral and cotton candy blue. He feels a surge of sadness at the thought of looking out his bedroom window back home and how he might have done so for the last time without even knowing it.

He doesn’t know how long he spends out there alone, watching the sun rise over the village, ten hours before it will over his hometown.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

He hears Connor’s voice before his footsteps. Looking up, he can see that the other boy is dressed for the day, but still looks only half-awake. Upon seeing the redness of Kevin’s tear-swollen eyes, he comes to full alertness, hurrying over.

“Oh, gosh, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine. Just a little homesick, I think.” Kevin’s voice sounds rough, but he musters up what he hopes is a reassuring expression. From the way Connor’s face crumples, it’s not.

His fingers come up to trace around Kevin’s right eye, tenderly brushing over the irritated skin, and he sighs as he sits down next to him, wrapping his arms right around his knees. “That’s rough, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I think- I’m not really sure there’s anything to talk about. It just sucks, y’know? Knowing that it’ll never be the same. I miss them. Even though- even despite everything, I miss them. And I kinda hate it, because I know that I’m just a problem to be fixed.”

Connor’s laugh is a bitter, brittle sound. “It’s okay. To love them more than they love you. I mean, it’s not actually okay, but eventually you learn to live with it. Eventually it doesn’t even hurt anymore, not the way it used to.”

Kevin makes a wounded noise, and reaches out a hand without thinking. Connor takes it, resting their wrists against his knee. “They don’t deserve you,” he tells Connor sharply. “Can I say that? I’m saying it anyway, sorry.”

“Only if I can say the same for you. I wish things could be better for you, Kevin. But I want you to know everyone here cares about you, for what it’s worth. You have us.” 

It’s hard to swallow around the stone taking up residence in his throat. Kevin thinks of the everyday kindness he experiences here, the indomitable hope that they fight each day to hold on to, the devotion that every one of his friends has to each other and to a better world. Kevin doesn’t know when exactly he stopped being scared of feeling so much for so many people. Maybe around the same time that he realized he likes the person he is now more than the person everyone used to applaud him for being. This family has come to mean just as much as the one bound to him by blood.

“It’s worth a hell of a lot, actually. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, when we finally- when we’re back in America, but at least I had this. At least I had you, and Arnold, and Naba and everyone for a little while.”

“It doesn’t have to end here,” Connor says, so quietly that Kevin isn’t even sure he heard him at first. “This can’t last forever, I know that, but I’d like to think that we’re close enough that we’d try and look each other up again after. That we wouldn’t just forget about each other.”

“Of course not. How are you gonna survive without all your roommates, right?”

“Right.” He almost sounds amused, and it’s the most Kevin can ask for when they’re both still fractured and learning to mend. They sit for a moment in silence, their hands still joined, until Connor turns to Kevin, and asks, “Tell me something good?”

“Okay. Um. Cows have best friends like people do. My neighbor’s dog likes to sit on the sidewalk and give out handshakes to anyone passing by. I used to pass by an apartment on the way to the mission center, and on the ground floor there was always someone practicing the piano. They were good. I got used to hearing it on my way to training.”

“That’s cute. Anything else?”

“A little girl gave me a rock once because she thought I needed cheering up. I still have it in my room. Uh, Elder Ghali wants to run a marathon one day and he’s been training really hard for it. And Arnold’s gonna take Naba on a date next week in the city.”

The way Kevin’s hand folds around Connor’s feels natural, like they’re puzzle pieces finding their way back to one another. Connor is close enough that he could lean his head on Kevin’s shoulder if he wanted, but that’s probably not a boundary he’s aware that he’s allowed to cross. More than anything right now, Kevin is just grateful to have someone who understands. Someone to sit with him when things are hard.

“Tell me one more.”

“Alright. Everyone in the world, including you and me, is made of stardust.” Some more so than others.

“Kinda cheesy,” Connor says with a tiny laugh.

“But it’s true! The elements that make up the human body- some of them were forged in stars that then went supernova, and now, those same atoms are part of all of us. So you literally have stars in your eyes. And the rest of your body.”

A hint of surprise lights in Connor’s eyes, as if to prove Kevin’s point. Cosmic dust through and through.

“Wow, that was almost smooth, Elder Price. Informative, too.”

“Did it work? Were you charmed?”

“Never.”

“Lying is bad, Elder,” Kevin teases, and Connor shoves him with an elbow. The sun is fully risen now, leaving the earth warm underfoot. From inside comes the stirrings of the others as they wake. He expects that he’ll hear the sound of Elder Neeley singing from the shower soon enough.

“Do you want to go in for breakfast? I was planning on making oatmeal,” Connor asks, jerking his head toward the house.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

They stand and stretch, trying unsuccessfully to dust off the dirt from their clothes, or, in Kevin’s case, from his bare legs. The birds are awake and ready to show it, and in the distance up ahead, the people of the village are beginning to start their day. They start walking toward the doorway, but Connor pulls to a stop before they enter.

“Kevin,” he says, like he’s coming to a decision. There’s a level of determination in his expression that Kevin has come to recognize. “I think we’re gonna be okay. Some days I still feel like I’m in over my head, but I think we’re gonna make it. Now, after, wherever. And I’m a realist, so you should trust me.” 

There’s a straightness to his spine and the authoritative air he uses when he’s delegating work. It makes people feel like they should listen, Kevin included.

“I’ve got to trust my District Leader, don’t I? We’re going to be okay,” Kevin echoes, and he thinks he even believes it. It might not be easy, but he’s not going to let that stop him.

“That’s the spirit.”

Connor gets a pot of oatmeal going on the stove while Kevin starts the kettle. Elder Church shuffles in shortly after, and before he even asks, Connor scoops a bowl for him with extra brown sugar. Their morning routine unfolds gradually as the others begin trickling in, and Kevin is reminded for a minute of the constant motion of his house on a weekday morning. Then Arnold bounces in, already raring to sort more movie characters into Harry Potter houses with him, and he forgets about everything else for a while.

  


Kevin lets the hurt fade away into the background again, until one day, a few weeks later, when Poptarts asks to speak to him while they’re repairing the roof of Dr. Gotswana’s office. 

“What’s up?” Kevin asks when he finally climbs down the rickety ladder. Poptarts has grease on his face from who knows where, and Kevin hands him a rag.

“This might be strange, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” Poptarts says as he scrubs at the mark on his face. 

“Sure, what do you need? Someone hide all the cookies on the top shelf again?” Kevin says with a grin, and Poptarts chucks the rag back at him.

“You’re the only one who does that! And no, this is, uh. This is about Con- Elder McKinley.”

Poptarts sounds serious enough that Kevin knows this must be important.

“Is he okay? Should I get the doctor?”

“He’s fine. It’s just.” He looks conflicted for a quick moment before the expression clears way for determination and he tells Kevin, “Today’s his birthday.”

“Wait, is it really?” Connor had made no mention of it at all, not even this morning, when Kevin saw him headed toward the post office with Naba.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t- he’s used to not really celebrating it. Back home. Even though…” Poptarts trails off, but Kevin understands what he’s getting at. Even though Connor loves celebrations and parties, always willing to try and do something a little special whenever anyone in the congregation has a birthday, he’s brought zero attention to himself today. Kevin doesn’t know what exactly might have led to this, but he has a pretty good guess as to why it started.

“Should we throw him a party? We could get everyone together, make a cake-”

“I don’t know if he wants that much attention on him today. It’s...kind of a weird thing for him. But I think it’d be good if we could get him used to the idea that people really do care, like leaving him small gifts or something,” Poptarts suggests, and Kevin nods.

“Of course. What do you need me to do?”

“I was just gonna ask if you had a gift to give, but it’d help if you could spread the word? I’m kinda just quietly letting everyone know one at a time.”

“Gotcha. I’ll tell everybody to bring something to you.”

“Thanks! I knew I could count on you.” Poptarts gives Kevin a pat on the arm and a knowing look; Kevin wants to ask what that’s supposed to mean but he’s already headed out to find someone else. Odd.

Everyone knows the birthday routine by now: small, sentimental gifts just to show someone you’re thinking about them, because most of their funds are being saved up for more vital fixes and improvements. Kevin makes the rounds as they’re doing their pre-lunch chores, and everybody gladly agrees to bring Poptarts something by the end of the day.

His own gift is something he needs to think about a little longer, but eventually he settles on something that he should be able to finish by evening. After lunch, he borrows a needle and some thread from Kimbay, and, with Nabulungi’s permission, cuts a length of paper from her texting device. He’s working at the school today, so after classes are done for the afternoon, he holes himself in his room to work on his project. It’s not going to be perfect, but it needs to be functional and look nice. That’s the least he could do for Connor.

“What are you up to?” Connor asks curiously when he spots Kevin absconding with the scissors first thing when he walks back through the mission hut door.

“Just a thing. You’ll see,” Kevin says as he breezes past, then stops to backtrack and tug Connor into a hug.

“Oookay, sure, we can do this,” Connor says, utterly confused as Kevin releases him, pats him on the cheek, and power walks away.

By dinner time, Kevin has managed to complete his gift, and secretly hands it off to Poptarts, who beams at him. Throughout the night, he sees the other elders slip away for a few seconds with Poptarts, but everyone holds fast to the agreement of not bringing anything up to Connor, and the rest of the night goes as any typical night does.

Poptarts and Connor turn in a little earlier and everyone else soon follows, so Kevin ends the night reading in bed. It’s a copy of some Star Wars book Arnold snuck to Uganda with him that Kevin has been reading for about two months, mostly because he has to keep stopping to ask Arnold to fill him in on everything he doesn’t know. Arnold has already dozed off, some ink still smudged on his fingers from making a surprisingly intricate drawing of Connor as a shiny looking elf. Kevin is spending as much time hoping that Connor’s birthday was pleasant as he is actually reading.

He must fall asleep at some point, because he shakes himself awake from a weird position, feeling parched and cramped. Placing his book aside, he tiptoes back out to the living room to grab a glass of water and finds just the person he was thinking about sitting on the couch. Connor waves him over but Kevin has to go chug two cups of water first before joining him.

There’s a small drawstring pouch in Connor’s hands that Kevin recognizes as being made with the cloth they got for Sadaka a while back. That must be her gift, then.

“Isn’t it lovely? I’ll have to go thank everyone tomorrow,” Connor says as he opens up the bag. Inside, Kevin spots a selection of trinkets: a tiger’s eye marble from Elder Davis’ collection, a sachet of tea from the doctor, a coke bottle cap pin that Elder Church made when he was teaching the schoolchildren to make recyclable art.

“I hope this was okay. We just wanted you to know we were thinking about you.”

“No, it was really great, thank you. Poptarts- he knows me better than I realized.”

“He’s a good friend. You guys have known each other for a while, right?”

“Yeah, since around the beginning of high school. I guess I forgot that he knew about my weird birthday hangup.” At the concerned look on Kevin’s face, Connor shakes his head. “It’s not like my parents ignored my birthday or anything. It’s just that each year it became another day where they could remind me that I wasn’t living up to their expectations. ‘You’re sixteen now, you should be doing better at school than this. You’re too old to be wasting time on your hobbies anymore. Why don’t any of our friends’ daughters have any interest in you? Your brother’s only fourteen and they’re already talking about him down at the training center.’ I started to hate it. Knowing that I was getting older but not better at anything.”

“Jeez, that’s tough.” Kevin’s parents have almost the opposite problem, setting their expectations higher and higher because Kevin would keep jumping to surpass them, which fed into his delusions of grandeur.

“Yeah, but I think I’m going to start trying to move on from it. Today helped. Having Poptarts and the rest of you around, just being yourselves like usual, was nice.” He turns the pouch over in his hands, looking almost pleased.

Kevin glances at the clock: eight minutes to midnight. “It’s still the same day, so would it be okay if I said it?”

Connor glances up, looking surprised for some reason, but he nods. “Sure, I think I’d be fine with that.”

“Happy birthday, Connor McKinley. I’m really glad that you were born.” It’s as much as Kevin can say without giving it all away. Even as it is, his expression might be doing too much talking for him.

The smile that Connor gives him is similar to the one Kevin’s been noticing recently, but happier.

“Thank you, Kevin Price. I could say the same for you. Oh, and thank you for the notebook! I never knew you were interested in bookbinding.”

Kevin shrugs. “I taught myself when we were printing the first edition of the Book of Arnold. I thought it would be useful, but it’s not very efficient. I figure now you have somewhere to write down our weekly grocery list.”

The offended look Connor sends his way is both funny and kind of touching. “I’m not going to use something so precious for something like groceries, Kevin. Maybe I’ll, I dunno, take up poetry or something. Make some haikus. Write a play.”

“It’s a pretty small notebook; I don’t think you could fit a whole play.”

“It’ll be a one-act play. I’ll write very, very small.” Connor pinches his fingers together.

“Don’t give yourself a hand cramp. I’ll just make you another one when the first one’s filled,” Kevin laughs. 

“If you’re going to be so nice about it, I’ll have to actually write something good. I don’t want you opening it up and finding some nonsense in there like, ‘I had a cat. His name was Matt-’ ”

“ ‘-he was quite fat and wore a hat?’ Yeah, unacceptable. I expect a full Greek tragedy.”

“Does it have to be a tragedy? I like happy endings.” He sounds kind of wistful about it, as if it’s something out of reach. Kevin wishes he could be the one to prove Connor wrong. He wants it so much that it fills his lungs like water, making it impossible to breathe.

“I do too,” he admits, trying to keep the conversation somewhere safe. Manageable. “Can you imagine if Jasmine had to marry Jafar, or if Mulan couldn’t stop the Huns from assassinating the emperor? That would be pretty messed up.”

“Exactly! It would be horrible! Tragedies are overrated.”

They wind up completely off-topic, discussing whether The Lion King can still be considered a Hamlet adaptation if not everybody dies at the end. He sits close enough that he can practically feel Connor’s body heat, especially when Connor gives him an indignant little push every time he laughs. It feels normal. It feels nice.

Kevin still isn’t totally sure about the future, but he’s pretty certain about the here and now.

\--

“You had another one, didn’t you,” Arnold asks knowingly one morning, leaning on his elbow as he watches Kevin struggle awake. 

“An-wha? What did I have?” He rolls over like a seal to face his best friend.

“A dream, my friend. A sexy dream, I bet.”

“Wow, this is not a conversation I can have right now,” Kevin says, pulling his blanket out of Arnold’s grasp and over his own face.

“It’s okay! Everybody gets them! Or, most people probably get them. I dunno.”

Kevin mumbles through his sheets, “I’m gonna regret asking, but fuck it. Everyone gets what, Arnold?”

“The Sexy Ex-Mormon Help Dream!”

“Sounds fake and make-believe and not real.”

“If you say so, but it sounded pretty real last night.” Kevin peeks his half-open eyes out. With a terrible, terrible grin that he must have picked up from one of the other dreadful people who live in this house, Arnold clasps a hand to his chest and sighs breathily, “ ‘Oh, _Connor_.’ ”

Kevin’s eyes shoot open, and he sits up like a jack-in-the-box springing out. “No. I didn’t.”

“You kinda did, buddy,” Arnold says gently, like he’s telling Kevin about a bad grade on a test. “And that’s completely okay!”

“Nope,” Kevin continues to deny.

“I can continue?” He deepens his voice in a questionable imitation of Kevin. “ ‘Your mouth is so pretty w-’ ”

Whoa, that’s enough of that. “OKAY, okay, fine, maybe I did have a sexy dream. I can’t remember.”

“Hey, no shame!”

“No, I seriously don’t remember,” Kevin tells him, swinging his legs around so they’re trapped in the gap between their beds. “Last thing I remember dreaming about last night was going to an IKEA. I’ve never even gone to one in real life.”

“Weird, maybe it took a sensual turn.” Arnold holds his hands out and Kevin clasps them in his own and they begin pushing against each other like they’re doing air-pushups. “Anyhoo, what I’m trying to say is that _you_ have a _crush_.”

“Do not,” Kevin lies glibly.

“I know a liar when I see one; we recognize our own kind.”

“Arnold, it’s not a crush. Who dreams about going shopping for energy efficient light fixtures with their crush? That’s stupid,” Kevin says with a laugh when Arnold’s face does something strange.

“Haha, yeah, that’s kinda weird,” Arnold says before he gives Kevin a sideways look and asking, “So what else have you been dreaming about lately?”

“Are you trying to get dirt on me?”

“No! I’m trying to psychoanalyze you. Whoops, does it mess with the results if I tell you that?”

“Who knows? Whatever, I trust you,” Kevin says as he anchors Arnold in place so he can stretch his back. “Mostly it’s regular dream stuff, like taking a math test or running away from government spies in some future sci-fi world. You’re there, sometimes. One time you were shooting a cannon.”

“Hm! Interesting.” Kevin can tell it’s not what Arnold was looking for, so he tries to think back to anything else of interest.

“Oh, there’s been some other shopping ones. They’re kind of plain, honestly. Me and Connor at the bank, or in line at the hardware store, god knows why. Buying mangos at the farmer’s market. They have those in New York, right? I dreamed about going to a sofa store, once. Dream Connor was trying to stop me from getting a recliner.”

He pauses to see if this has satisfied Arnold’s curiosity, and finds that his best friend is watching him through narrowed eyes and chewing his lip thoughtfully. 

“He let me buy the chair I wanted eventually,” Kevin says slowly, mostly to see if Arnold is still paying attention.

“Nice,” Arnold says absently, before coming back to himself. He looks like he’s decided something, but he just releases Kevin and starts climbing out of bed. “Okay, time to get started on a new day! Let’s go, buddy.”

“Wait, I thought you were gonna try and read my dreams or something.”

“Maybe later,” Arnold chirps as he skedaddles out of their bedroom first. Kevin feels like somehow he missed three fourths of the conversation they just had, but he follows behind anyway.

Kevin is supposed to be helping with recruitment today but he finds himself delayed while waiting for Connor, who wasn’t supposed to be his companion for the day until Arnold went and stole Mafala away. They took off before Kevin could do anything about it. Connor is preoccupied with fixing the cabinet door that’s somehow gotten jammed open, but Kevin isn’t sure why he needs to do it now.

“So the bugs don’t get in,” Connor explains as he wrenches at the wooden door, trying to force it back into alignment.

“We could just move everything elsewhere and fix it when we get back.”

“No, I’ve almost got it…”

“The clock’s ticking, freckles. We need to get going, or we’ll never catch anyone while they’re actually at home.”

Connor blushes nicely at the nickname, but continues his task. “I know this, Kevin, which is why it would be fantastic if you stopped distracting me.”

“I hope you know I’m adding this to your tab.”

“What are you talking about?” He finally manages to get the door to swing back and forth like normal again, though it still won’t quite close.

“You have currently managed to squander another nine minutes of my life. That’s nine more minutes that you owe me of your undivided time and attention.”

From his spot on the floor, Connor squints upwards. “Do you find joy in being a gigantic pain in the behind? Is this how you get your kicks?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Kevin grins when Connor flips him off and then slams the door closed. Finally.

“I should have known,” Connor grumbles before reaching over to rip a strip of paper off the bottom of the budget report lying on the table. He grabs the pen and scrawls something on it in all capital letters, then shoves the paper into Kevin’s hand. “Here. Consider it both an IOU and back payment.”

Kevin looks down at the scrap of paper. In Connor’s rushed handwriting, it reads:

One (1) Coupon for Infinite Wasted Time  
From Connor to Kevin  
Expiration Date: never  
Memo: now I owe you nothing so stop complaining you dick

“Wait,” Kevin says as Connor is walking away. “Can I cash this in at any time? What if I want to save it until we’re back home?” He hurries to catch up to his rapidly departing companion, after running back to his room to put his coupon safely away.

“Then I guess I’ll have to buy a plane ticket and fly out to whatever forsaken Florida town you’ve decided to live in and crash indefinitely on your awful, lumpy couch.” Connor spins on his heel to jab Kevin in the chest; Kevin almost bowls them both over from walking so fast. “Remember this,” Connor warns when they’ve found their footing again. “Remember that you brought this upon yourself when you’re wondering why I’ve used up all your hot water again.”

“You’re a terrible houseguest,” Kevin says, trying not to think about this person in the shower. Bad enough that he’s been having the dreams. Connor smirks.

“Keep that in mind before you use your coupon.”

  


Recruitment is mostly a bust, besides a handful of young people who accepted a pamphlet. They return home to Kitguli in time to join in on what looks like a highly disorganized pick up game of soccer with the schoolkids. Kalimba is the referee and there’s an uneven distribution of ages across the teams but no one seems to care. Kevin joins the team that first grabs hold of him, four children hanging off him like he’s playground equipment. It’s been awhile since he’s played any sport, but his body still remembers the basics, so his team is doing pretty well until Elder Michaels and Ghali sub in.

At approximately what would be half-time, the rainstorm begins. Kevin’s already been benched for arguing with the ref and disruptive behavior, so he sees the clouds rolling in before the others do. It starts as a sprinkle, dotting everyone with specks of water until the sky just opens up and the downpour begins. The horizon is dark and all the kids are shrieking as they get soaked, but they continue to play, slipping around on the muddy ground. Arnold and Naba are on opposing sides, but once the rain starts, he completely abandons his team in favor of trying to shield her from the storm. It’s adorable and completely useless. 

Connor, mud-splattered after a truly impressive slip and slide while trying to kick the ball, hobbles over to the sidelines to join Kevin.

“You’ve got a little-” Kevin gestures at Connor’s whole body.

“Ha, you’re hilarious,” Connor says dryly. He reaches out to smudge some of his mud onto Kevin’s cheek. “Here you go.”

“Not what I was hoping for, but thanks.”

They watch as the game starts deteriorating. Half the kids are just running around trying to gather rainwater and muck to fling at each other, and the others are only nominally still chasing after the ball. Kevin would join back in, but after witnessing Connor wipe out, he decides he’ll save himself the trouble.

“I bless the rains down in Africa,” Connor sings to himself, holding his arms out to try and wash himself clean.

“You are the whitest person I know,” Kevin says with a laugh. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his shirt is soaking into his skin, but he’s not even uncomfortable. Out on the field, Asmeret hitches up her skirt long enough to kick the ball straight into the net. Elder Church and Sadaka are cheering her on.

“It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you,” Connor sings, more threateningly this time as he points at Kevin. “There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.” Should any use of this song ever be this heart-warming? Probably not, but Kevin’s enjoying it anyway.

“You are all very white,” Middala says with a snort as he passes by, leaving wet footprints in his wake. “Don’t get sick again.”

The storm subsides soon after, just a flash in the pan, and the game is broken up so everybody can go home and get cleaned up. Unfortunately, there’s only the one shower, so everyone who lives in the mission hut is relegated to hanging around in the foyer, dripping only at the doorway so they don’t track mud all over the house.

A very cutthroat game of Rock Paper Scissors is used to decide the next lucky person to be chosen. Kevin is not good at this game.

“Think of it this way: if you were clean, you’d have to help with dinner!” Arnold says to try and cheer him up when he’s still trapped at the doorway five rounds later. Arnold is in the middle of making some kind of chicken dish with Elder Zelder.

“That’s exactly what I wish I was doing,” Connor says with despair. The mud on him has started to harden into a shell.

“Honestly, I wish you were too,” Arnold says, frowning at the spices in his hands. “I’m not sure if I was just holding salt or sugar.”

“What a fun mystery,” Elder Neeley says.

Another round in, Elders Neeley and Schrader have been eliminated, with Poptarts following soon after, leaving only Connor standing between Kevin and cleanliness. They stare each other down for a beat before playing their final hands: Kevin wins with rock over Connor’s scissors, and bops his scissor-hand before fistpumping.

“Thank you, Heavenly Father, for this act of kindness,” Kevin says toward the ceiling as he begins to carefully make his way toward the bathroom. The losers all boo.

Something appears to become unhinged in Connor’s soul and he grabs Kevin by the shoulders. “I will give you literally anything you want if you let me use the shower now,” he hisses.

Tempting, but Kevin has to decline. “I can’t take that deal.”

“Please, I’m serious. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m flaking!” He holds up an arm and a fleck of dirt drifts to the floor. “I’ll be in and out so quickly, I swear.”

“You literally told me this morning that you would use up all the hot water!”

“It was a lie; I’m a very considerate roommate and would never do something so uncouth. Please, Kevin.” He pouts, and if Kevin were even a fraction weaker or nicer, he would have given in. It’s a very compelling argument.

But Kevin shakes his head resolutely. “I’m sorry, but I’m tired of being gross and wet. The only way you’re getting the shower now is if you’re joining me in there.” He flashes a genial smile. From the corner of his eye, he can see Poptarts straighten up from where he was lounging on the floor. Did he hear Kevin just now?

Connor freezes and a very long moment passes, as if he’s seriously considering it. Just as Kevin’s pulse starts picking up – because, god, what if he accepts? Jesus, Kevin isn’t sure his heart could handle that – Connor lets go of him with a glare. “You play dirty pool, Price,” he says, folding his arms. “Enjoy your hot water.”

“Oh, I will,” Kevin says, even though it’s probably all been used up by now. Elder Davis had been in there an awfully long time. And, because he doesn’t know where their boundaries lie anymore, he says, “I’ll think fondly of you while I’m in there.”

The sputtering noise Connor makes is truly a sound to behold.

When they turn in for the night, Kevin’s a bit wary of going to sleep, lest any of the Sexy Ex-Mormon Help Dreams appear again. He’s very aware that he’s been having them, but, like he told Arnold, it’s been awhile since. Mostly he’s been having these weird dreams about everyday life. They’re not bad, just kind of ordinary. Sometimes Arnold and Naba are there, or some of the others drop in to visit. Connor shows up a lot, mostly to balance out Kevin’s terrible shopping habits or to help Dream Kevin choose the right color for his curtains. Sometimes waking leaves him with a strange sense of loss, like he’s let something slip out of his fingers, out of reach, but he’d take that feeling over the guilt of the Hell Dreams any day.

Tonight, his mind wanders as it does while he’s giving in to sleep. He thinks about what Arnold and Naba’s kids would look like if they ever had any. Three kids, he decides, with dark curly hair and Nabulungi’s eyes, and Arnold’s smile. They’d probably be quite short; sorry, future Hatimbi-Cunningham children. 

He tries to picture his own future again, wondering if he can see himself living in the house next door to Arnold’s, like a pair of best friends might. Unrealistic but ideal.

It’s an apartment instead of a house, cramped and probably too expensive, but homey. The floorboards creak and the doorknobs are all tarnished, but he recognizes the cream-colored curtains from his dreams, as well as the blue throw pillows on the worn cushions of the secondhand couch. Kevin’s about to ask his imagination if Connor was the one in charge of the decor, when the kitchen comes into focus.

Connor is there. Sitting on the counter, instead of a chair, because he’s a menace, a pen cap in his mouth as he circles something in the newspaper. Coupons? Crossword answers? There’s a glass sitting next to him, half-filled with milk, because he still hasn’t taken to coffee after all these years. He’s dressed and ready to go, because when is he not? But he’s wearing a pair of faded pink slippers over his socks, and his sweater is oversized, signifying that he plans to stay in today if possible. He glances up when he notices Kevin hovering in the doorway, blue eyes peering over his reading glasses, because he needs those now that they’re getting along in years, and he smiles. 

“You’re staring,” he says as he recaps his pen and places it aside. “Is there ink on my face?”

“No, I just like looking at you,” Kevin confesses, and Connor laughs as he hops off the counter and walks over.

“Still not charming, sorry. I made you coffee but it’s in that tumbler you don’t really like; the other one’s still in the dishwasher.” His hands come up to straighten out Kevin’s slightly askew tie.

“Unacceptable.” At this point, Kevin becomes aware this is no longer a daydream but a dream-dream, given the way his throat doesn’t feel dry and his heart remains steady even with Connor so close that Kevin can see the stardust in his eyes.

“You’re so persnickety in the morning,” Connor says with a fond eye-roll. “You really need caffeine that badly, don’t you?”

“I was looking for my morning kiss, actually,” Kevin says, because there’s no consequences here for being this bold. Connor just looks unimpressed, and he grins. “No? My moves still don’t work on you?”

“They stopped working about ten years ago, you dork,” Connor sighs. “Luckily for you, I have a soft spot for dramatic rabble-rousers.” And he leans in to kiss Kevin. They melt into each other like they’ve done so a thousand times before, the two of them a perfect fit for one another. Puzzle pieces.

Connor’s left hand curves around Kevin’s face, and Kevin can feel the cool brush of metal against his cheek. A wedding ring.

With a shaky breath, Kevin jerks awake, his heart finally jumpstarted into action. That wasn’t a sexy dream, or an ordinary dream. That was something else altogether. That was the magic eight-ball in his brain coming through with the hardest “without a doubt” it possibly could. Kevin might be in deeper waters than he thought.

He might even be drowning.

\--

“Alrighty, boys, you asked for this, so sit your bottoms down,” Connor commands as they mill around the table. He cuts and shuffles the deck several times with a level of clean precision that gives Kevin the tingles. He hopes that isn’t going to become a thing.

“Something about this feels so...forbidden,” Elder Zelder says, sounding kind of giddy.

“Naughty, even,” says Poptarts as he takes a seat next to Kevin.

“Don’t put it that way, like I’m corrupting you! Many families across the world enjoy a nice friendly card game as a bonding experience. That’s what we’re doing. We are having a good, wholesome game night, not gambling.”

The other half of the hut is currently embroiled in a homemade game of Twister in the living room; from the occasional screams they can hear, it seems to be going well.

“Wait, are you saying there isn’t going to be any money involved?” Kevin asks. “Isn’t that half the fun?” Everyone else starts making disappointed noises too.

Connor narrows his eyes at Kevin. “What are you doing.”

“I’m just saying, there isn’t going to be half as much tension if there aren’t any stakes, right? No one’s going to take it seriously if they’re not at risk of losing something.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Elder Church agrees. 

“It’s more fun to win when you get something out of it,” says Elder Schrader. They all turn their sad pouting faces toward Connor, who looks supremely disgruntled but gives in.

“Fine, but if we start with money you’re all going to complain about being ripped off. Could someone go see what’s in the junk food drawer?”

Poptarts returns with a bag of Skittles, which is deemed acceptable, and everyone gets a small pile of candy to start with. 

Connor teaches them the basics of blackjack, playing as the dealer. It goes pretty well, though Kevin isn’t sure any of them are actually earning any winnings. Elder Church has already lost all his skittles to Connor, and Kevin and Elder Zelder have lost more than they’ve won. Poptarts is, to everyone’s surprise, faring quite well for himself. Kevin thinks it’s because sugar is at stake.

After Poptarts makes away with most of the skittles, Connor redistributes his own supply out of pity. While he’s passing out candy, Kevin slams his hands on the table, startling Elder Schrader enough that he almost scatters his cards everywhere.

“Alright, enough child’s play,” Kevin announces, pointing at Connor. “Blackjack was all fine and good, but we should all be playing against each other, not just you. It’s not as exciting when you’re playing as the house.”

“Oooh, are you going to swindle us out of all our money?” Poptarts asks. He surveys his candy hoard like a tiny dragon.

Connor raises his eyebrows. “I never said I was a hustler. I just said I was pretty good at cards. I don’t want you to think anything crazy is going to happen.”

“Well, in any case, we should switch to another game so Elder McKinley doesn’t have to keep playing as the dealer,” Elder Church says.

“How about something a little risky?” Poptarts says brightly.

“Strip poker!” Elder Schrader suggests. 

“Haha, no, let’s not,” Kevin says at the same time that Connor declares, “Absolutely not, under any circumstances, with this group of people, ever.” Kevin glances over at him to try and make eye contact, but Connor is thoroughly engrossed in shuffling the deck and glaring at Poptarts, who looks extremely amused for some reason. 

“...regular poker?” Elder Schrader tries this time. 

“Great idea! We’ll start with five card draw for tonight,” Connor says as he starts pulling cards out of the deck to explain. It takes several minutes to get through all the different poker hands and their ranks, but he eventually decides they must understand well enough. “I’ll deal the first hand, and then someone else can do it next time. Do we have more skittles?”

Everyone turns to look at Poptarts, whose hoard has shrunk considerably since the beginning of the lesson. 

“Did you...just eat all those in the last ten minutes?” Elder Zelder asks. He looks somewhat unwell at the thought. 

“I got hungry!” Poptarts says through the jumble of candy in his mouth.

Connor scrunches up his mouth, then comes to a decision. With a sigh, he stands. “Alright. I’m going to give each of you some of our spending money. But no matter what happens, it all comes back to me at the end of the game, okay? I guess whoever has the most money by the end can buy themselves a treat next time we go to market, but you don’t actually get to keep any of the cash, got it?” He’s using his most leaderly voice, so they all put on their good listening expressions and nod along.

He still looks a bit skeptical, but he goes to fetch the money anyway, distributing a few shilling notes to each of them before dealing them each five cards.

Kevin doesn’t have anything worth anything, but betting starts low and he figures he might get some better cards when he draws, so he calls and waits for his turn to come around again.

He should be paying more attention, but he finds himself concentrating on the way Connor’s gaze flickers between his cards and everyone else at the table. One hand is tapping nervously on the table, fingers dancing a little jig the way they do when he’s restless. Kevin wonders if it means he’s got a bad hand. At that moment, Connor looks up and meets his eyes; his mouth twitches just slightly in amusement and then he folds, tossing his cards face-down on the table with a rueful shrug.

Kevin gets his head back in the game long enough to draw himself into a pair of nines, but in the end everyone loses to Elder Schrader. Failing once is enough to get Kevin to put more effort into the next round. This time he has a pair straight off the bat, so he decides to meet Elder Church’s bet and continue.

Connor has stopped fidgeting. His eyes are focused mostly on his own hand, and he exchanges cards efficiently without any fuss. Kevin has wound up with three sevens, which he feels is pretty good. Elder Zelder and Poptarts have already dropped out, so he raises the bet by a bit, just to see what’ll happen. Elder Church calls, and then it’s Connor’s turn.

“I raise you thirty thousand,” he says, pushing three banknotes forward. He looks both impassive and kind of smug.

Kevin glances down at his own stash of money and realizes that would clear him out if he lost. Connor looks so awfully sure of himself, which, one, is uncomfortably attractive, and two, is something Kevin doesn’t think he should cross. And while he hates to back down, it’d be embarrassing to lose all his money in two rounds, so he reluctantly folds. The others deliberate for a minute of two, but eventually follow Kevin’s lead, so Connor turns his cards over and triumphantly collects his winnings.

Connor’s hand literally has nothing worthwhile. It was a bluff. Motherfucker.

“Oh, wow, he totally bamboozled you guys,” Elder Zelder says when Kevin grudgingly watches his money get added to Connor’s neat stack.

Kevin stares at Connor full of suspicion. “Were you faking a tell earlier?”

“Most people don’t actually have an obvious tell,” Connor says primly as he gathers up the cards and hands them over to Elder Church to shuffle. “And now you know.”

Kevin has to laugh, even as it kicks his competitive drive into gear. “And now I know.”

The beginning of the next round goes in a blur, but Kevin finds himself with three queens this time, which seems substantial enough that he thinks he could actually win this time. Connor is being extra weird, tapping his fingers on the table and not discarding or drawing anything, but remaining in the game regardless.

This round, Connor raises a ridiculous amount again, but Kevin is ready. He’s not going to get played again. “I call,” he says, shoving his bills forward and staring Connor straight in the eyes. Incomprehensibly, Connor just gives him a little grin. Kevin is both annoyed and irrationally desperate to kiss him senseless.

“I’m out,” Poptarts announces loudly. “As are they, probably,” he says, waving generally at the others. 

“Why are you speaking for us?” Elder Church asks, amused. Poptarts flicks a purple skittle at him.

“Something’s about to happen here, and I don’t think you want to get caught in the middle of it,” he says sagely, nodding at Connor, who looks innocently back.

“Just a friendly game,” he reminds them, but everyone else drops out regardless.

“Friendly, sure,” Kevin says as he flips his cards over. “But don’t get upset when I-”

“Sorry, but I think I won this one too,” Connor says gently, fanning out his cards so Kevin can see.

Ace, four, six, nine, and Queen. All hearts. 

“Oh, Elder Price, when are you going to learn? Sometimes it’s better to fold.”

Kevin stares blankly at the cards on the table, unable to compute how this is possible. What the fuck is the probability of getting a flush without exchanging any cards? Less than one percent? “But- how did you...that doesn’t make any sense. What?”

Connor winks. “I told you I was lucky, sweetheart.” Kevin feels like something inside him is on fire.

Elder Church whistles in admiration. “Wow. I almost want to accuse you of cheating, but I’m the one who dealt the cards. Are you sure you’re not playing us somehow?”

“Little old me? Of course not. I just get really lucky once in a while.”

Kevin, now out of money and out of luck, sits back in a daze and watches the next couple of games unfold. Elder Zelder and Poptarts have begun to play more recklessly, and everybody’s getting kind of sucked into it. A wail starts up from the living room, and if Kevin cranes his neck, he can see that Elder Michaels seems to have collapsed while the others struggle to stay in place. Twister is ridiculous.

Connor still has a disgusting amount of money after destroying Kevin, so he feels it’s his duty to distract him as much as possible, to give the others a fair shake. Mostly this entails making faces at him whenever he looks up to survey the competition, and nudging (read: kicking) his chair while bets are going around. It’s questionable how effective his meddling really is, but Connor’s pile of cash does dwindle a tad, so Kevin takes it as a win.

“You stop that,” Connor admonishes him after another round. Everyone else has gone to get a drink or snack from the kitchen.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything. Just hanging out, pretending to look busy so Arnold doesn’t try and make me join their game.”

“You’re staring. Is there something on me?” He rubs at his cheek self-consciously, and Kevin remembers with unfortunate clarity the dream he had a few nights ago. 

Without thinking, he almost answers the same way he did then, catching himself at the last moment. “No, I just like- uh. Your face.”

Jesus, that’s even worse!

Connor gives him a look that’s somewhere between bemused and flattered, and then he shakes his head. “Yeah, okay, nice try. Go back to charm school.”

Local Dumbass Doesn’t Know When To Quit, is what the papers are going to say about Kevin when they mourn his self-destruction, because there’s something about Connor that sets his inhibition meter to zero. “Are you saying you don’t like my moves? You’re not bewitched by my masculine wiles?” he asks, because he wants to know if his fantasy is in any way a reflection of reality. Also, he really just likes flirting with Connor, so there’s that too.

Connor opens his mouth to answer, then makes a pained face. “Wiles? Really?”

“I have plenty of them. They’re not working on you?” he asks, as if he’s surprised. Connor indulges him by not visibly rolling his eyes or laughing. 

“Not yet. You’ll have to keep trying.” There’s something about the way he says it, almost like a challenge, or an invitation. 

“Yeah?” Kevin’s voice doesn’t crack, no matter what anyone says. “That’d be okay with you?”

“From you, I’d be willing to put up with it.” And he smiles in that way that makes Kevin’s heart clench. 

Kevin thinks about the coupon tucked into Arnold’s book sitting at his bedside. He thinks about Connor sleeping on his hypothetical shitty couch in a tiny Florida dump after a night of watching black and white movies and tossing undercooked popcorn at each other, and then he thinks about Connor crossing over from his side of their bed in the cozy bedroom of their apartment to latch onto Kevin, his head resting on the space between their pillows. He thinks about what it would be like to wake in the morning and see Connor under the dim light of just past dawn, looking soft and well-rested, finally free from the plague of his stress dreams. 

He imagines the way they would get ready for the day together, or how they might fall into bed, or go out for dinner dates. How Connor’s lips might fit against his, and how their bodies might follow to match. 

Infinite wasted time, Connor had said. Infinite means forever.

_That’s what I want. I want a chance at forever with you._

He wants to bring Connor to an observatory and show him all the stars they could be spinning stories for together. He wants to share popsicles at the beach, and hot cocoa while Christmas tree shopping, and syrup-sticky pancakes in the dead of night at a 24-hour diner. He wants Connor to teach him more card games and he wants to lose every single time just to see that slightly smug look of satisfaction on Connor’s face when he collects his winnings. 

He wants to be the one who helps put aloe vera on Connor’s hands after he inevitably burns himself like a fool on a hot pan again. He wants to be lulled to sleep after another long night by Connor’s gentle hum. He wants them to go to the beach to collect seashells together, or ride a Ferris wheel at a fair, or build a windowsill garden of whatever herbs Connor likes to use when he cooks. 

Kevin knows they’re going to be okay. But what he wants is for them to be okay together.

He can almost remember the touch of Connor’s wedding ring against his skin, like a sense memory. Like a promise of something to come. 

If he were to close his eyes now and try to picture the future, what would he see?

He doesn’t even need to think about it. He already knows.

Jesus fucking Christ on a tricycle. This is bad.

Kevin comes to his senses long enough to see Connor waving the other players back over, then tells them he’s turning in early, too aggrieved over losing all his money to stay for the rest of the game. They all tease him good-naturedly, but allow him to go, and he hurries off to wallow in this new, insurmountable problem alone in his room.

It doesn’t go particularly well. He keeps delving deeper and deeper into elaborate fantasies about what his life would Connor would be like, before twisting around miserably in his bed as he tries to drive the thoughts from his mind. Each time he ends up more tangled in his bedsheets, which is where Arnold finds him when he barrels in half an hour later.

“Hey, Kev! You wouldn’t believe the twister game we just had- Elder Neeley’s leg can do this thing where it bends like sideways? Which means he’s- hey, are you okay? What’s got you looking so glum, buddy?” Arnold asks when he notices Kevin’s forlorn expression and incapacitated arms.

“It’s over, Arnold. I’m done for,” Kevin says as Arnold helps him out of the blanket and into a seated position before bouncing onto his own mattress.

“When you’re as dramatic as we normally are, it’s hard to tell how serious you’re actually being.”

“Dead serious.”

“Okay, lay it on me!” He smiles patiently at Kevin, waiting.

Arnold is his best friend in the whole world; if Kevin can’t tell him, he’ll never be able to tell anyone, and then where would he be? Back in the hole, repressing things again to be the picture perfect facade that everyone knows he isn’t. Kevin takes a halting breath. Squeezes his knees tightly before letting go with his exhale. Okay.

“I’m in love with Elder McKinley.”

“I know,” Arnold says cheerfully. What.

Kevin narrows his eyes. “Did you actually know, or are you doing a Star Wars thing right now?”

“Both! Isn’t it great?”

“No, Arnold, it’s _not_ great! It’s probably the worst thing that could happen! I’m in love with Connor and it’s going to fuck everything up!”

“Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s okay! It’s gonna be alright,” Arnold says, patting at Kevin’s lips with his finger to stop him from whisper-shouting any more. He crawls across the gap between their beds to crowd onto Kevin’s with him, and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “We got you through this feelings thing once before. We can ace it again.”

“These aren’t stupid, run-of-the-mill friendship feelings! These are- this is-”

He doesn’t even have the right vocabulary to express it. This is a supernova. This is the _Big Bang_. Kevin looks at Connor and it’s like the universe explodes into color, like there was nothing but stormclouds and rainwater until they met. It’s like falling in slow motion. It’s like losing home and finding it again, somewhere infinitely far away but so much closer than it’s ever been.

It’s exactly the same as it’s been all this time, but he finally understands it now.

But most of all, it’s just the realization that what they have would be enough. Kevin loves Connor so much that he could give up almost everything else for the chance to stay by his side. He also loves Connor enough to step aside.

He loves Connor enough to hope he finds happiness elsewhere, if that’s what it takes. Even if it breaks his heart in two. Even if it’s harder than living without the sun.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Arnold asks gently. “Like looking up one day and realizing everything is a little bit better when they’re around. _Because_ they’re around.”

That’s exactly it, Kevin thinks glumly.

Is this what it feels like? To know, absolutely, that no matter how it all ends, some small part of you and your journey, your life, will forever be intertwined with someone else?

To understand that you wouldn’t want that part of your heart back, even if it could be safely returned?

“I didn’t know it was _love_.” 

“Oh, Kev, you’re the most perfect disaster I know,” Arnold says fondly, patting at Kevin’s hair. Kevin leans into his touch. “How’d you finally figure it out?”

“I just watched him fleece me out of a hundred thousand shillings over cards and realized I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,” Kevin says weakly.

“That’s what does it for you, huh? I was wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?”

“You’re not the sourpuss who doesn’t have time for love. You’re like the girl who doesn’t realize that her perfect match was her best friend all along.”

“What? How? _You’re_ my best friend, you dingus.”

“No, it’s not really the role, it’s how oblivious you were. Here you both are, right in front of each other all this time, and it takes until now for you to get it? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not oblivious,” Kevin grumbles into Arnold’s shoulder. “I knew I liked him. I just thought I would kind of get over it eventually if I didn’t do anything about it.”

“Kevin, you look at Connor the way everyone looks at Finn in The Force Awakens. I don’t think you just get over someone like that. Also, you’ve been subconsciously fantasizing about domestic bliss together for like two months now. That usually means something.”

“I guess it does.”

They sit quietly together, Arnold still rubbing circles on Kevin’s arm until his head starts to flop bonelessly onto Kevin’s from sleepiness.

“C’mon, let’s go to sleep,” Kevin says, letting him slide down to a prone position. “I’ll figure my shit out later.”

When they’re both halfway to sleep, Arnold reaches a hand across their beds to prod at Kevin’s pillow, dragging Kevin out of the sinking clutches of the beginning of a dream.

“Arn’ld? What’s up,” Kevin says, molasses slow in both his thoughts and words.

Through the dim moonlight casting into the room, he can see Arnold’s brow crease before it smooths out and he whispers, “You should take the leap. Tell Connor how you feel.”

“I can’t. He already loves somebody else.” The ache in his chest speaks so loudly to his feelings that Kevin doesn’t know how he didn’t realize before today how far at sea he was.

Arnold blinks owlishly at him, particularly wide-eyed without his glasses on, and his mouth twists. “He does?”

“Yeah. It’s...I think he’s pretty serious about it. And I respect that.”

“Okay. Sure,” but Arnold doesn’t sound quite convinced. “But you guys have been-”

“Later, buddy. I’ll deal with it later,” Kevin interrupts, before Arnold can get on a roll. “Let’s get some rest, okay? Gonna be a long day in the fields tomorrow.”

Arnold closes his mouth and then nods. “Later. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Kevin lies there in the dark after Arnold dozes off, and thinks about how, once again, his life has hit a point wholly unfamiliar and uncharted, and that he doesn’t have even the faintest outline of a plan to handle it. Closing his eyes, he sends a prayer out into the night to a god he doesn’t have the fullest faith in to deliver him a clear picture of the best path to take from here on out. Because both nothing and everything has changed, and Kevin doesn’t know what to do anymore.


End file.
